


Fate: Finale

by JuiceAstronaut



Category: Fate/Apocrypha, Fate/Grand Order, Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Minor Character Death, My First Fanfic, Other, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Rape Recovery, Roundtable Knights, Slow Burn, So much trauma is going to be worked through by the end I stg, Strangers to Lovers, Trauma, basically kinda addressing and working through what happened in their respective legends, given that Galahad's in the story it will be a plot point that's referenced and worked through, if that makes sense, no beta we die like men, not every character will appear right away
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 84,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26503318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuiceAstronaut/pseuds/JuiceAstronaut
Summary: No one would say that any Grail War has been typical, but up until now, it has at least followed a certain set of rules. Seven servants, seven masters, and they fight until one team remains to take the Grail for themselves. That's... not how it goes this time around. All of humanities heroes have been reported to be lying dormant in the place where they died. All they need to wake up is for some unsuspecting (or suspecting) person to stumble across them.  An almost infinite number of servants are most certainly going to wreak havoc on the world. So how do you counter in a battle where the most powerful people in history can smash entire buildings to bits? You get the guy who can make a strategy, can circumvent magical defenses, and can cause wounds that won't heal of course. And who knows who else, or what else you might pick up along the way.
Relationships: Diarlot, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne/Lancelot of the Lake | Lancer/Berserker, Diarmuid x Lancelot
Comments: 55
Kudos: 21





	1. Mama Mia, Here We Go Again

Dear Amilia,

I'm sorry to leave you on such short notice, but I'm afraid something has happened that requires my immediate attention. I must see if I can reconnect with an old friend, but more importantly, an issue that involves magecraft on a grander scale than anyone has ever seen before has arisen. There have been, let's say, magic duels like this before, but nothing in this nature. I trust you to handle the daily mechanisms of running my department, and I expect you to keep up with your studies.

 _Love, Your father, El Melloi II, Waver Velvet_.

Amilia held the letter her Dad gave her, brows furrowed in utter confusion as she read and reread the hastily written paper repeatedly. He's going to be gone? For how long? Amilia set the paper down and groaned in frustration. The second El Melloi of the Clock Tower was too much of a coward to tell Amilia where he was going to her face? She gathered her papers and started angrily, shoving them in her backpack. Never mind that, what of his responsibilities at the school! Amilia hoisted her bag onto her back and went around their house, shutting the lights off (which took a long time because it was so big) _"I must see if I can reconnect with an old friend..." he had said._ Amilia scoffed and angrily filled the cat's bowl with food, anger abating slightly when Mr. Twiddly Wink (Shut up she named him when she was five) meowed slightly and started eating, purring while doing so. _Totally worth blowing off managing an entire department, sure_ she thought, putting on her shoes and leaving the house, shutting and locking it with more force than was strictly necessary.

Once she was outside, the letter and, more importantly, the wording of the letter kept nagging at her like an incessant bug. She kept her head down as she walked, the phrase "Magic duels" kept coming back to her, that and "Magecraft of this scale." She passed by the cafe "Bean and Grind," where she would typically grab a bite to eat and a quick caffeine pickup to start her day, but she was distracted. She took a left towards the school. 

Now that she thinks about it, Dad hasn't been more cryptid with her in her entire life. Usually, when he speaks to her, it's in a clear, direct tone, even if adjusted in a way she could understand when she was younger. But now, there was not one clear answer in that whole thing. _Others have been seen before but not like this._ What the hell was that? And she was just supposed to go about her day like normal? She ran her tongue over her teeth in concentration, passing over the bridge where she usually would look out onto the water for a bit, maybe feed the ducks that swam underneath. Still, this line of questioning was really eating all her mental processes. Especially so, since she didn't even notice when someone came up from behind her. 

"Yo, Amilia!" Amilia jumped six feet in the air at the use of her name being shouted. No, literally. She literally jumped six feet into the air, her magic crest fired off before she had the chance to control it, and now she was floating above the ground. She turned to the owner of the voice.

"Rika! You _cannot_ sneak up on people like that!" she yelled, dropping her magic output, so she landed on the ground again.

"Sorry, sorry," Rika said, "You looked so deep in thought I just had to scare you!" he laughed. Amilia glared at him for a few moments before she couldn't suppress a giggle any longer. 

"Glad to see you're your usual self," Amilia laughed.

"So how's everything today? Did you get that new coffee drink I wanted to try?" Amilia stared at him before it clicked as to what he was talking about.

"No! I'm sorry, I passed Bean and Grind this morning, I didn't even get anything for myself. I totally forgot about your drink!" Amilia said, apologetic.

"No worries, there's always next--" Rika was cut off by the sound of the Clock Tower bell tolling for ten minutes until class started. "Oh shit, we should probably get going. Your Dad will be pissed if I'm late again!"

"Actually, he's--" But Rika was already running off. Amilia sighed, but then smiled as she took off after him.

They made it to class on time, but predictably (Or at least, predictably for Amilia) her father wasn't there to teach the lesson, a no-name substitute stood in his place. Rika looked surprised as he walked into the classroom but sat down with no further comment. The tension in the air was almost cuttable, though Amilia decidedly ignored it.

"Where's _El Melloi?"_ the silent question hung in the air. She did not answer it, merely going through the (boring) lecture as if nothing was amiss. She stood up once the bell rang, only to get bombarded with students shouting questions, demanding to know where her father had gone. Once again, she ignored it, instead opting to go up to the substitute and receive any paperwork her father might need to work on when he gets back (The word _If_ hung at the back of her mind like dirty laundry.) When she turned back around, Rika was shouting at everyone to leave her alone, and with only a few mutterings, they indeed dispersed. Rika looked back at her and smiled. She smiled back, and together they walked out of class.

Walking down the hall, Amilia wordlessly passed her father's note over to Rika, and he read it over soundlessly. He handed it back to her once he was done.

"This doesn't sound like him, he's usually direct when he talks, this almost seems like he's trying to avoid saying something," Rika observed. Amilia sighed, she was thankful that Rika was the type of person to just 'get' stuff.

"That's what I thought too. This is definitely bigger than he's making it out to be, though admittedly, the first few words talking about an 'old friend' threw me off at first."

"' _Magic duel'_ I wonder what that refers to?" 

Amilia hummed. "I don't know, but maybe the library has some answers?"

"We can meet after classes then?"

"Or we can go right now," Amilia replied mischievously. Rika gasped dramatically.

"Amilia! Are you suggesting we--" he lowers his voice " _Skip classes?_ Oh, the humanity!" 

Amilia rolled her eyes. "Rika, I've done way worse in and _to_ this school." 

He laughed, "Yeah, but that's how you got one of your best friends."

"Yes, so in conclusion, only good things can come from breaking the rules," Amilia stated matter-of-factly, then grinned widely before teleporting to the library. She hid among the magic histories books (no one _ever_ checks there) and waited for Rika to show up.

Five minutes later, he did, huffing and puffing, obviously running there from their previous location. For a guy whose origin is basically swords, he's not very athletic. _Well, I guess you don't_ necessarily _have to be athletic, not how he does it_ , Amilia thought with a smirk. After wandering around for a bit, Rika eventually found her.

"Took you long enough," she said, picking up a random book and looking at it.

" _Took you long enough,"_ he mocked, sitting down on one of the stools. Amilia snickered. He continued in a sarcastic voice, "Hi, I'm Amilia I can teleport without any buildup, yes I am amazing, what of it?"

"Rika, everyone in this school is a prodigal mage in one way or another."

"Nah," he said almost dismissively, "If there's anyone like you, I haven't met them yet."

"Rika, I just teleported," she laughed nervously. 

"Right, yeah, sorry," Rika put his hand behind his neck, "Just something I think about whenever I see you do cool stuff like that." He stood up again.

"Really, I just have weird parents and was adopted by a guy who knew what he was doing. I can be anyone."

"Not _anyone_ surely," he said casually. _Man, when did this conversation get so intense?_ Amilia shook her head.

"Whatever, weirdo," she said to deflect the conversation "Can we focus on the matter at hand?"

"Sure!" Rika responded, immediately cheering up, "But what _is_ the matter at hand?"

"Looking for anything that references "Great mage magic duels" or something like that." 

"Very specific," he answered.

"Hey! Blame my father for writing vague ass shit, _disappearing,_ and then _not_ expecting his perpetually snoopy daughter to go looking for him!" Amilia went to the "Magical Conduct" section and started looking for books. Rika stayed in the histories section and looked there. When they wandered too far away, Amilia cast "Remote Link" so they could talk without shouting. Rika's voice would emerge right by her ear as if he were leaning over her shoulder, and she could respond like normal.

"So, you admit you're snoopy?" Rika asked. She sent a shock of magic along the magic link and smirked when she heard him jump on the other end.

"Okay, okay! You are definitely not snoopy, one-hundred-percent real American gal right here!"

"Rika, we're British."

"Notwithstanding I--Oh, I think I have something!"

"What?" she asked but didn't receive a reply. Sighing, she floated back up to Rika (She had somehow wandered downstairs and was in the "Mage Cookbook" section before realizing this was Not Right).

She found him in front of a shelf, head practically buried in a book, concentrating harder than she had ever seen him concentrate on a book in her entire life. She floated over by him and tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped six feet in the air (not literally, unfortunately) before realizing it was her and relaxing. 

"Oh god, you scared the living shit outta me."

"Payback," she grinned, "What did you find?"

"This!" he says enthusiastically, but makes no attempt to turn it.

"This…?" she prompts.

"Something called 'The Holy Grail War'" then Rika's tone shifts in a way that suggests he is now directly reading. "A battle Royale involving seven masters, in control of seven Servants, the victor of which obtains the Holy Grail." Rika hummed, "Both Holy Grail, and the word 'Servants' have quote numbers by them. 'Servants' is capitalized."

"Holy Grail seems self-explanatory, look up what servants are." Rika thumbed through the book until he found the correct page.

"'Servants, or Heroic spirits, are the functional copies of legendary heroes that are summoned by the Grail to serve their masters (the mages who summon them) in a battle to obtain the Holy Grail.'"

"That seems straight forward enough."

"Not at all, but okay," Rika shut the book. "I mean, that's a magic duel, right? That has to be what your father is referring to."

"Yes, but he said 'something similar has happened but not like this,' meaning, if this is it, it is the Grail War or something similar, but it's drastically different now."

They both looked at each other.

"So your Dad is going off to fight in some war-magic-duel thing to obtain a wish-granting cup, except _this_ one is different from the _other_ ones, which have been perfectly normal. Using a servant who is a copy of someone, famous or legendary. _Which_ Servant?"

"I can't answer that last question, but I think he must be. But why be so cryptic about it?" Amilia hummed. "Let's find out what happened in the previous ones, that might give us a clue."

"Rabbit hole, here we come," Rika reopened the book.

Okay, Rika was sure his brain was going to explode. Amilia knew this because he said so multiple times.

"Okay, one more time. The _three magic families_ , Tohsakas, Matous, and the Einzberns all teamed up to create a way to access the 'Root' of magic, they found out that only one of them would be able to access it, so they turned on each other. This access point, the 'Lesser Grail,' needs the influence of _seven_ servants to access the Great Root or Greater Grail, or it won't work. Thus, the families opened up the Grail War to other mages to fill out the ranks. However, they still view it as a fight amongst themselves in order to gain access to the Greater Grail. All grail wars thus far have had an unclear winner, with a turning point with how the Grail War was conducted happening after the second of these wars, with the Church intervening because it's 'their grounds' or whatever." Rika sits up, he initially was sitting upside down on a couch that they commandeered from one of the sitting areas, back on the ground while his legs were thrown over the cushion area. Amilia sat in a recliner chair, legs tucked under her, the book floating in front of her. She twiddled with the fabric of her dress.

"There that!" Rika shouted, " _Why_ is the Church involved with Magecraft? They hate us!"

"I don't know, because it's the _'Holy_ Grail?" Amilia suggested, twirling her hair. Rika balked.

"So literally just because the word _Holy_ is in the name, the Church went 'Ah yes obviously this is something we need to get involved in. That's _our_ word!'"

"I guess," she shrugged. It sort of just clicked with her, but she'll admit she wouldn't really be able to explain it to someone else. "Dad would probably be able to explain it better," For the first time that day, she felt a twinge of sadness at his absence. If this really was what he had gotten into, well, she wanted to make sure he's okay. Rika noticed but pretended that he didn't as he grabbed the book and started shouting at it.

"Make sense already, dammit! You were written to be perceived. Let me perceive you!" Amilia giggled, and he felt accomplished.

"I don't think yelling at the book is going to help," she said through her laughter. Which was abruptly cut off when she felt a stabbing pain on her hand. She smacked it instinctively, thinking it was a bug, but grew more alarmed as the pain only doubled. She shot up from her seat (normally) and inspected her hand. She felt a surge of panic when she saw bright red, thinking that whatever got to her must've left one hell of a bite, but then realized it wasn't blood she was seeing, but a sigil. The sigil looked to be in the shape of a sword, but the blade, guard, and hilt were separated from each other, breaking the image into three parts. Before she could think too hard about it, she was interrupted by Rika giving a blood-curdling scream. Her heart dropped when she finally heard the librarians emerging from whatever alcove they had hibernated in and started rushing up the stairs (really how didn't they hear them before?). Rika grabbed his hand and ran this way and shook it wildly as if that would somehow get rid of whatever was on it. She practically tackled him and teleported just before whomever it was reached them. They were now in the hallway just outside of the courtyard. They both sank to their knees.

"You. _Dramatic._ _Bitch_ ," she said. "It did _not_ hurt that bad!"

"It surprised me!" he said, and she groaned. "What the hell is this anyway?" he looked down at his new involuntary tattoo. She did the same. If someone else really did make it, she would say that they were very talented. As it were, she was just confused and slightly scared.

"I don't know…" she said, "Some sort of curse?" She looked past her hand and realized she had also teleported the book they were reading with them. And they didn't even check it out. Oh, Mrs. Munser is going to be _pissed_. She reached out and grabbed it. "Should we see someone about this?"

"We'll then have to admit to skipping classes to be at the library." Rika pointed out, standing up.

"That's true…" she trailed off, also standing.

"I vote for we just go home, we're going to be caught if we stay here for any longer, and this book looks like it has most of the information we need."

"I second that," Amilia said. They made their way off campus, deciding to go back to Amilia's house. They walked mostly in silence. It wasn't until they passed Bean and Grind that Rika perked up.

"Oh! Can we _please_ try that new drink now?" Rika looked at Amilia, hopeful.

" _Fine,"_ she said as if put out but smiled to indicate otherwise. Rika practically rushed into the shop, while Amilia followed in afterward, hands behind her back. Given the time of day, the cafe was mostly empty, only a couple of elderly people sat in the corner, and some employees went around wiping down tables. In another corner, by a window was a small table, beside it was a tower of small cacti and succulents, positioned to be able to catch as much of the sun as possible. The table was empty, and Amilia cheered a little bit when she saw it, that was her favorite place to sit, she was glad it was free. Rika had already ordered, the new drink being some Scandinavian egg chocolate coffee or something similar (they were trying new things, she had to hand it to them, but that sounded disgusting.) She cut him off before he could pay and added her order (A caramel macchiato, extra espresso) and paid for both.

"Ah, thank you," he said shyly.

"No worries, I told you I was going to get it for you," she waved him off.

"Yeah, but I was going to pay you back," he argued.

"Don't worry about it," she reassured.

"Okay...Thank you," he repeated.

"Anytime. Let's sit?" She guided them to the succulent corner. She indicated for him to reopen the book and then promptly stole it from him.

"Does it say anything about weird blood sigils?" he asked. Amilia peered over the book at him.

"You think the Grail has something to do with these?"

He shrugged. "Well, we were reading about it, then these _conveniently_ show up on our hands. I think there are at least some dots to connect."

She hummed and quickly scanned over the book for any references to it. Surprisingly, almost at the beginning of it, she found something that sounded like it. She set the book down and turned it over to Rika.

"I think this is it? Command seals?" 

He read it over quickly, "Controls servants three times… indicates master status… Yes, I think this is it! They're both broken into three parts, so that makes sense!"

"Does that mean we're Masters now?" Amilia speculated.

"It must. But the other passages say that almost all Grail War masters have something they want to get from the Grail. I can't really think of anything I want."

She thought for a moment about her desires, "Honestly, the only thing I want right now is to make sure my Dad's safe. He's a competent guy, but he'll be the first to tell you when it comes to actually casting magic he's sort of terrible. I don't think this is the right place for him."

"Well, at least you have something," Rika responds, looking out the window for a bit. She looked at him for a bit before going back to reading. They both were startled when Amilia's name was called for their drinks, but before she could get up, Rika was already out of his seat retrieving them. He set her mug in front of her, and she picked it up, drinking while reading. She peered up as Rika started drinking his coffee, seeing his reaction. His eyes widened.

"Oh! That's unique!" he said, taking another sip. She set the book down.

"Is it good?" she asked. Rika nodded.

"I thought it would taste vaguely eggy, but it's actually terrific! It's very chocolatey, and it isn't bitter at all!" She asked to try, and he handed it over. She tentatively took a sip and was surprised to find he was right, none of the usual bitterness was there, and the chocolate flavor really came through. She handed it back.

"I like the slight bitterness of coffee, but that's really good for someone who doesn't necessarily."

Rika nodded. "Right? I wonder how they incorporate the egg…"

"I don't know… maybe they put it in the pot?"

"But then wouldn't I be drinking bits of the egg?" Amilia was about to respond when she realized that someone was standing over them. A tall woman with brown hair pulled back into a ponytail was staring at them. She wore a fancy white blouse with a silk bow tied around the collar, and pointed heels that looked like they could stab someone's eye out. It took Amilia a few seconds to recognize her because she hadn't seen her that often, but it was Lorelei Barthomeloi, the assistant director of the Clock Tower. Amilia stood up quickly, her sudden movement alerting Rika to look up, to which he also snapped to attention, spilling his coffee. Amilia promptly snatched up the book to prevent it from getting soaked, and she held it to her chest, while Rika frantically tried to clean up the mess with some napkins.

"Ms. Barthomeloi!" she said, somehow managing to sound professional. "It's a pleasure to meet you here!"

"Shouldn't you two be in classes?" she stated, ignoring her greeting.

"Well, that it's...um," she stuttered. Barthomeloi hummed, pulled a chair away from another table, sat down across from them, and crossed her legs. Amilia sat down again out of instinct. The table was only meant to seat two people by it, and as such, both Amilia and Rika felt her presence very strongly. Rika managed to clean his mess but couldn't bring himself to stand up to throw the napkins away, so as such awkwardly bundled the napkins by him. Barthomeloi was silent for several moments, each second passing like an hour. Finally, she made a 'tch' sound before going back up to the counter and ordering a black coffee before sitting down again. _Ah, she thought someone was going to take her order,_ Amilia assumed, struggling to not smile. When Barthomeloi sat back down again, she made a 'come here' motion with her hands.

"Let me see them," she stated. Both Amilia and Rika looked at her, confused. "Your command seals, let me see them." Finally, clicking, the two teenagers reluctantly showed her their hands. _So this is why she's here,_ Amilia thought, not even questioning how she knew or how she knew they were here. She inspected both of them before nodding to herself, releasing them.

"So the accounts were right. You two are Masters now."

"So it would seem," Amilia responded. Rika still hadn't said anything, deliberately not making eye contact with her.

"How much do you know about the Grail War?" Barthomeloi asked.

"Just what's in this book," Amilia replied, finally setting it down back on the table. Barthomeloi spun it around to look at the title before nodding to herself.

"And what do you know about _this_ Grail War's status?"

"Only what my father said about it, which isn't much. Just that it's supposedly different from the other ones," she replied truthfully. Barthomeloi raised an eyebrow, at which Amilia dug out the note from her bag and handed it to her. She read it over quickly, sighed, and then returned it.

"We told him to not say anything to you, we didn't want to get students involved. I guess 'nothing' translated to 'Give clues, so they go searching by themselves.' And now you're involved, whether we like it or not." She sighed again. At that point, her name was called for her drink, and she again didn't get up for several moments before realizing she needed to go get it herself. She tentatively took a sip when she sat back down and hummed in satisfaction. She continued talking, "We have reasons to suspect that for _every_ Heroic Spirit that sits on the Throne of Heroes, there's a copy of them already on Earth, only needing someone to stumble across them to solidify the Servant's participation in this Grail War. There will not be the typical seven servants, seven masters. We have no idea why it's this way this time around, whether it's a fail-safe for the Grail or it was triggered by something or what. All we know is that there is no possible way either the Church or the Mages Association will contain this. There are too many factors. All we can hope for is damage control."

"Is that what my father left to do? Damage control?" Amilia asked, hopeful. 

"Yes, though there is something personal at stake for him too. He was awfully eager to take up this mission," Barthomeloi replied.

"Where is he?" Amilia questioned, leaning across the table. Barthomeloi's expression softened for the first time since she sat down.

"I'm afraid I don't know. We purposefully gave El Melloi vague instructions so that nothing can be traced back to us. He left to go find a servant, but who that Servant is we don't know."

Rika piped up for the first time since this conversation started, voice quiet, "Do we know where the servants are?"

"What do you mean?" Barthomeloi asked.

"Like," Rika bit his lip, trying to find a way to word his question, "You said the Servants are already on Earth, and they just need a Master to 'activate' them or whatever. Is there a pattern to where the Servant is lying dormant, or is it just random?"

"We have reason to suspect that the servants are 'dormant' in the location where it says the hero died in legend." 

Rika nodded, taking in that information. "What should we do then?" he asked.

"Damage control, like Ms. Velvet's father. We have no way of knowing how Grail is going to show up in this scenario, whether _all_ opposing Grail teams need to be terminated or the usual seven will suffice. We don't even know if it's just _one_ Grail this time around, maybe there will be multiple wishes granted by the time this is over. We are literally flying into this blind, and as such all, we can do is reduce the amount of damage this war will most likely cause." She looked at both of them, gauging their reactions, "I know this is a lot to ask of you. We never wanted to involve students in the first place, and as such, I understand if you decide you don't want to participate. There are multiple dangers involved, and as such I will completely understand if you decide to back out of--"

"No." Amilia said right away, "I want to find my Dad. To at least support whatever he's doing and make sure he doesn't die. I'm in." Barthomeloi looked surprised but then smiled.

"Thank you," she said, then turned to Rika. "And you?"

Rika remained silent for a few moments, fiddling with his empty coffee cup. After a while, he nodded, eyes looking troubled.

"Thank you both for contributing. The Mage's Association greatly appreciates it." With that, she stands up. "I'm afraid this will be the only time we will directly communicate with you. We have no idea what forces will be at play during this. As such, the Clock Tower wants to reduce the amount of contact between the Masters as much as possible. You'll be operating mostly by yourselves, we're trusting you to make sound decisions when it comes to harm reduction. We will also be trusting you to find your own servants." She handed both of them a small coin, "In case of emergency, you can contact us using this, but please only use it if absolutely necessary." She looked at either of them before nodding almost to herself and saying her goodbyes. She exited almost as swiftly as she had entered. Amilia and Rika stared at their coins, both feeling like they had just gotten whiplash.

"That woman is fucking frightening," Rika said, and they both burst out into laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic is essentially going to focus a lot on how each servant's life affects them currently, and I'm going with the assumption that they remember their past summonings. I'm tagging this as Au because I'm going to be taking bits and pieces from both servant's legends, fate universe itself, and a little dash of whatever the hell I want. The emphasis is going to be making sure the servants are happy because goddamnit do they deserve it. I am open to critiques and even suggestions about where the story should go, and this is my first time posting so let me know if I should do something differently. Thank you for reading!


	2. Let's Get Down to Business

Rika knocked on the door of the Velvet’s residence, after having rang the doorbell three times. Amilia had really taken this whole Grail War thing very seriously, and was now in the process of trying to find a Servant to go after. She hadn’t been coming to classes and Rika suspected that she hadn't left her house in the three days she’s gone AWOL. He held two cups of coffee, and a small paper bag filled with pastries for her to eat if she hadn’t already. There still wasn’t an answer at the door. He hesitated for a moment, but then opened the door and let himself in.

“Amilia! You weren’t answering the door so I let myself in, I hope that’s okay!” he shouted to establish his presence. He was about to enter the house further when he remembered that the Velvet’s had a weird rule about shoes being on, so he set the food down on a nearby table and took them off. It always felt weird but it wasn’t his house so he couldn’t complain. He picked the food back up and ventured further into the house. The lights were on, but set to dim for some reason, and as such had to really watch where he was going. His foot brushed against something soft and he almost chucked everything in his hands before he realized it was Twiddly (his nickname for her cat). He pet him with his foot for a bit, Twiddly purring and rubbing into it before trying to locate Amilia. He shouted a couple of times before he got a reply saying to go to the study (yes the house was so big they had a study, remarkable.) 

He entered the room and immediately had to do a double take. Amilia had set up papers upon papers all along the wall and really any given surface in it. They were put up in batches, with color coded string connecting the papers in each batch. Amilia was in the process of connecting more strings when she actually saw Rika. And immediately zeroed in on the food he brought.

“Hi! Sorry I didn’t hear you knocking was too distracted--are those scones?” she said quickly, making a grabby motion with her hands. He handed her drink and the bag wordlessly, still trying to read all the papers she had set up. Amilia practically tore open the bag and wolfed down a couple of scones and seemed to chug her drink before slowing down and opting to munch on one while continuing with her work. _So I was right, she isn’t eating,_ Rika thought.

“So, what is all this?” he asked hesitantly, expecting a tidal wave to burst forth.

Amilia talked through bites of food, “This is my process of picking a Servant! I have to pick one that’s not going to die right away, but is the right blend of powerful and smart so I know I can rely on them.” She took a swig of her coffee, “I also want to pick one that’s not going to eat up all my magical energy right away so I can still cast magic if I need to.” she gestured to the whole room. “This is the list I need to narrow it down from.” Rika nodded.

“I see, but this maybe me being dumb, but why not just pick the person you think is going to be the most powerful so you can just murk everyone you come across?” Amilia climbed up onto a chair, and Rika went to stand behind her in case she fell.

“Well, that’s what everyone else is going to be doing, right?” She unraveled a spool of yellow string and connected one paper with another, then wrote something on one of them with a sharpie.

“I’m not following,” he admitted. She pointed at a pair of scissors and tape, and he retrieved them for her.

“Everyone else, if they know about the war, is going to be going after the biggest, most powerful servant. We’re going to be encountering several people that have overpowered servants that probably have the ability to wipe out several kilometers of land, if not more. So, if everyone has a servant like _that_ then the goal should be to obtain a servant who can effectively undermine that power. Someone who’s tactics can outmatch raw strength.” She cut a piece of paper that was lying on her desk, and taped it up onto the wall.

“You’re going for the underdog?” Rika smirked.

“Sort of, like I want to be mostly confident in their abilities, but not in the giant-death-beams-of-light kind of way, but more someone who can take out someone with that kind of power.” She hopped down from the desk with ease.

“I suppose that makes sense,” Rika tilted his head, “So who do you have right now?”

Amilia grinned and spun around until she was at the center of the room, and pointed directly in front of her to the largest of the clusters she had, one connected with the largest spider-like web of green yarn.

“This guy is my top contender right now, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne. He was a knight under Fionn McCumhail and has multiple accounts of him outwitting his opponents and using physical prowess and dexterity to do so. I’ve been studying up on the different classes servants can be summoned into, and it seems that Diarmuid can either be summoned as a Lancer, or as a Saber. If I get his lancer form, which is what I’m hoping for, he has two spears, Gáe Buidhe which can inflict wounds that can’t heal, and Gáe Dearg which can negate certain magical effects and pierce magical armor.”

Rika was impressed, “That sounds like it would be really useful,” he said.

Amilia nodded, “Yes he’s my first choice… but there’s one slight complication.”

“What’s that?”

“He has this curse called the ‘Love Spot’ that’s said to enchant women to fall in love with him.” 

Rika inhaled briskly, “Yeah that wouldn’t be good.”

“So I’m also researching on negating curses to see if I can get rid of it. I have a few I’m looking at but a lot of them require there to be no magical output from the target in order to take effect and I don’t know if he’ll be in that position when I go to summon him.”

“Not really summoning, more like claiming,” Rika pointed out.

Amilia made a face, “Yeah but I don’t like referring to it like that.”

“Well, we can try to find where he died maybe, view him and see if he’s outputting any magic?” Rika suggested. Amilia hummed.

“Yeah we could do it like that.” She thought for a moment. “What about you, what servant are you looking at right now?” She turned to look at him.

Rika avoided her gaze, “I don’t know, I’ve been looking at people here and there. I might go your route, a more lowkey servant to offset the more powerful ones.”

She inspected him for a few moments. “Well you're free to look at the ones that I have, maybe one of those will be a good fit.” She said eventually, reaching into the paper bag for another scone but realizing they were all gone. “Shit! I just ate everything. I'm sorry, here I’ll go make you something,” she said while gathering her trash and exiting the room. He stayed behind and looked to and fro at Amilia’s large expanse of servants. _She’s really going all out,_ he thought uneasily. She came back several moments later with an everything bagel and a cup of coffee.

“Sorry I don’t have anything more extravagant. I’ve been distracted,” she said while handing him the plate.

“I can tell,” he joked, taking the plate. “That’s kinda why I’m here. Are you okay? Are you eating, sleeping? Drinking enough water?”

She waved his concern, “Yes I’m fine, I just haven't eaten breakfast by the time you came in. Thank you, for breakfast, I don’t know if I did.”

“You’re more than welcome,” he responded. “Do you mind if I look in your library for a bit? When you said ‘counter curse’ that made me think of something.”

“Yeah sure! Go ahead! I think I’ll follow you, I need a break from hero legends anyway.” The two of them took a short walk to the Velvet’s library, him eating the small breakfast she provided on the way there. Rika had been to their library a few times before, and basically knew where all the books were, probably better than Amilia did herself. He immediately went into the Anti-Magic section and started looking.

“What are you looking for then?” Amilia asked, opting to follow behind him.

“Your Dad was talking to me about anti-effects one day, I think in an effort to punish me for something but it backfired because I was super interested in what he was saying. He was talking about curses can effectively be cancelled out if done correctly by placing _another_ curse on top of it that's opposite. So in this case, to counteract a “women fall in love with me” curse you would cast a “women fucking hate me” curse. Simple in theory, but the practice of it is extremely difficult because you have to make sure it’s the _exact_ opposite, down to casting and wording otherwise the two will just overlap in a hellish way.”

“I see, so I’d have to find out how the fairy casted the magic on him, and do the complete opposite of that,” Amilia said, tapping her hand on the side of her cheek.

“It was a fairy?” Rika asked, amused.

“Yeah, like a fairy had sex with him and then cursed him I guess,” she said casually.

“As one does,” Rika says, finally finding the book he was looking for. He turned around and put his back to the shelves, opening it. “You didn’t find anything else about how she casted it?”

“No not yet.”

Rika hummed, and handed her the book. “This is the book your dad referenced to me. Find out exactly how she casted it and carefully form a counter-curse to that. And I’m not exaggerating when I say it needs to be the opposite in every way. Alternatively, if it doesn’t work you can always use a command seal to make sure he doesn’t do anything.”

Amilia took the book, but frowned at his words, “I’m not going to be using them, under any circumstances.”

Rika widened his eyes, surprised, “Why not?”

Amilia looked surprised, “Because that’s a person we’re dealing with, and I’m not about to tug another person around willy-nilly. That’s someone's _life._ ”

“Technically they’re not alive, they’re just the copies of people who were.”

“This isn’t the type of thing that ‘technicalities’ apply to. Even if he’s not the _exact_ person who sits on the throne of heroes, he’s still going to be a breathing person. I can’t see the guy on the throne, but I will be able to see him. The person standing in front of me and is breathing is more alive than the person who isn’t.” Amilia said quietly. Rika sensed he struck a nerve.

“Then you’ll be a good master to him then, I don’t think he’s going to want someone who’s going to force him to do things he doesn’t want to do,” he offered. 

Amilia’s shoulders relaxed, “I want this to be as mutually-beneficial as possible for the both of us. I don’t want one person thinking they’re above the other.” She looked down at her command seals, “I don’t even really like the idea of having these in the first place. It takes whatever balance this relationship would have and unnaturally skews it in the Master’s favor. I was looking into it a bit, and there’s basically no limit as to what you can make a servant do with these. You can only use them three times, but for those three times the servant is entirely at your mercy. I hate that.”

Rika’s heart softened at her words. She always was one for everything being fair and just. It made sense that she wouldn’t like the command seals.

“I think you’ll be the best for him, or whomever you choose for this.” Rika said. He thought back to the other color coded papers strung up along the study walls and got a twist in his stomach. Amilia nodded, hugging the book he just gave her to her chest. 

“I hope so,” she said, troubled. He smiled.

“Here, I’ll help you get him, make it go smoothly,” he suggested.

“Really?” she asked, “Wouldn’t that detract from you trying to get your servant?” “Don’t worry about it,” he said, “We can always do that later.”

Amilia smiled wide and bounded back to the study, Rika following after her in a slow pace, absentmindedly bringing his hand up and running his fingers over his own set of command seals.

At their mercy indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter til Diarmuid arrives, a little after that will be Lancelot. There's going to be some wholesome stuff, then the action will come in. Comments are appreciated!


	3. That Moment When You Forget Literally Everything You were Supposed to Do

“Okay! Let’s review the plan,” Amilia said. Rika sat across from her on the floor of her library, small notebook in hand where they had written their entire strategy. Three long days of hard work, but they finally had a cohesive plan about how they’d get Diarmuid, and also hopefully remove the curse. The spell the fae used had ended up being a simple potion, the only reason it had probably stuck for so long is that a fae cast it.

“I think you’ll be able to counter it easily enough. Your magic is easily on the level of at least some lower fae,” Rika had said, she dismissed the notion but was assured nonetheless. Amilia showed Rika the countermeasure she had come up with, obviously without the magic, of course, it was a simple potion in a clay pot, it swirled with something purple and sparkly. In order for the counter-potion to work, she had to hope the Servant was admitting low magical outputs, otherwise, it would burn out the potion too quickly, But then it needed a quick burst of magic to properly adhere, so she would most likely have to to use the establishment of their contract as the magic needed to activate it. She explained all this to Rika, whose eyes glazed over while nodding along to what she was saying, so there was no way he’d be of any help.

Diarmuid had been suspected of dying near the flat-top mountain, Benbulbin in Ireland. They surveyed the area with a distance-magic module but weren't able to detect any traces of magic or confirm the sights of any servant.

“That’s good!” Amilia stated, “Worst case he’s simply not there, best case he’s there but has little to no magic output, which means I can cast the counter-curse with little restrictions.” Rika agreed and suggested they go immediately lest someone else gets ahold of them.

“I think that’s all we had to do anyway,” Rika added. Amilia agreed. They secured travel to Ireland and Amilia went to her room to pack, expecting Rika to go home and do the same. However, by the time she was done and set her two bags downstairs he was still in the foyer. He stared off into the distance, rubbing at his hand that had the command seals on it.

“Rika?” she asked, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I...I don’t think I’ll be going,” he said quietly, as if afraid of a reaction.

“I mean, that’s okay, it is kinda going to be me establishing a contract. I’ll do the same when you find who you’re going--”

“That’s what I mean,” he said quickly, cutting her off, “This Grail War thing. I don’t know if I can do it…” She set down her bags and went to stand in front of him. He continued talking, “All of this, it seems way too important for someone like me being involved. I don’t even know what I want. How can I participate if I don’t even have a wish? Even if it’s for damage control, I feel like I’d be shitting on someone else’s dream,” Rika wouldn’t look at her.

“Rika, no ones forcing you to go through with this,” she said.

“I know… but I feel after all you’ve done for me… that I had to. But I don’t know if I have what it takes.”

Amilia crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, “Well, that’s okay, but it then makes what I’m about to ask you a lot more significant.”

Rika raised an eyebrow, “What is it?”

Amilia looked at him for a bit before reaching into her bag and producing an old-looking piece of paper. She handed it to him without saying anything. He read it over quickly and gasped when he realized what it was. A Geas scroll, one that will bind both parties’ magical crests to fulfill what was laid out in the contract. It was written that the Servant bond with Diarmuid would automatically transfer over to Rika in the event of…

He laughed, “Are you really that concerned with falling in love with him?” 

Amilia pouted, “Don’t laugh! I just don’t want to be forced into anything. And, given what I was reading up on his legend I’m sure he’s not going to want some random teenager making goo-goo eyes at him. Especially if said teenager has the capacity to force him to do something against his will. It’s just as much for his sake as it is mine.”

Rika read out from the scroll, “‘ _In the event of the affected party, Amilia Velvet, develops a romantic or sexual attraction to Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, aka Diarmuid O’Dyna, aka Diarmuid of the Love Spot, said parties command seals will be transferred automatically to Rika Jewel.’_ If that is the case then I’m going to have to deal with you thirsting after my servant,” he said jokingly.

She made prayer hands in front of her face, “And I’m asking for your tolerance if I become a major SIMP for your servant. But since you don’t even want to participate this is bigger than I thought it was going to be.”

Rika smiled at that, and produced a pen from his trousers pocket, signing the document without a second thought. “That won’t be a problem if it’s just that.”

Amilia’s eyes widened after she took the scroll back, “Are you sure? But you just said!”

“The least I can do is be your failsafe for you,” he said, “That doesn’t take a second thought. Go find your Dad, bro.” Tears welled up in Amilia’s eyes as she threw her arms around Rika’s neck, burrowing her face in his shoulder. He was startled for a moment, but after a moment rested his hands on her upper back, squeezing. After a moment she pulled back, looking at his face.

“Thank you so much Rika, you have no idea how much this means to me.”

Rika couldn’t help but go a little pink at that, and he backed away, rubbing at his neck. “No problem! What are friends for,” he laughed nervously. Amilia smiled wide and squeezed his hand.

“You’re one of the bestest friends I have, Rika. Really, thank you.” She pulled away and went to pick up her things. “Well, I’m off. Wish me luck!”

He nodded, “Call if it goes well, but I guess I’ll know if it doesn’t cause I’ll have a new servant.”

Amilia laughed and opened the door. “See you later Rika! Make sure to lock the door when you leave!” He nodded in affirmation and watched her go. 

Amilia took a deep breath when she left and walked down to the bus stop. She’s traveled before, but usually always with someone. This is the first time she was going by herself and it was both nerve-wracking and exciting. The bus rolled up and she fumbled a bit with her bags but eventually maneuvered her way to put them overhead and sat down. She spent the trip to the harbor reading up on Diarmuid’s legend, and subsequently Fionn’s legend because the two were so overlapped. By the time the bus stopped, she felt like she had a pretty good grasp of his character. Loyal, but cocky, but with the talent to back up the cockiness. Kinda like her in away.

She again struggled to take her bags off the bus, so much so that a random man took pity on her and helped her, and she thanked him. Luckily for her, the ferry was just boarding when she arrived, and as such was up and away before she knew it. Thirty minutes later, she landed and took another bus to Benbulbin, which was loaded with tourists going to the same place. She looked around nervously. She hoped he wouldn’t be in an area too accessible to the public, or they mistook him for a dead body and removed him. She sank further into her seat as worry gnawed at her. She would hate for him to be gone before she had the chance to find him. The bus stopped, and she exited. As she predicted, there were a lot of people milling about. She found a large rock and hid behind it for a bit, and enchanted her bags so that they would fit into her pocket. Can’t climb with those things. She reemerged from the rock and smoothed out her trousers. She saw a couple of groups being led by a tour guide and decided to go the exact opposite area where they were. She started making the trek up the steep slope, an area of almost blank green, before shooting upwards in a wall of rock. It took her fifteen minutes to reach the rock side, and once she did she had to sit down for a bit, taking a drink of water. Once refreshed, she placed a hand on the side of the cliff face, trying to figure out how she was going to scale it. She eventually decided to just scale it normally, and use magic to support her. The use of magic made the process much easier than merely walking, and before she knew it she was up the side of the mountain. She turned to look back at where she came from and stood, admiring the view for a few moments. Taking a deep breath, she set out to work. She brought out her magic compass in order to track magical influences, but the needle kept pointing to her over and over again. She frowned, _Basically useless,_ she thought. She looked around. There was fauna and such but it was basically a flat surface, and she could see the other side of it, and what appeared to be people milling about. She cursed, _Why did you have to pick such a popular spot to die, Diarmuid!_ She angrily thought and crouched down. She cast a simple invisibility spell on herself, which hopefully would have people’s gaze slip over her. She stood up again and started her search. She was basically reduced to using her eyes to search for _something_ , she wasn’t even sure if this was the right area, listing an entire mountain as a spot where one died didn’t really narrow it down any. She eventually had to go over to where the other people were and started making her way down the mountain slightly. She thought of how foolish it was she climbed a mountain when she could’ve just walked on the other side of it when she found something promising. 

Just off the path a bit, was a risen section of rock, almost seeming to form a circle that encased an area she couldn’t see. _You could hide a body there_ she thought eagerly and made her way towards it. She quickly climbed over it and found it sloped down to a meadow in the center. The alcove was filled with wild grass, interspersed with clovers and oxeye daisies. In the center, there was a slight depression in the grass, from which Amilia thought she could vaguely see the outline of a person. She jumped up on the edge of the rock and squealed, pumping her arms in delight. She found him! Grinning like a mad-man, she brought up her compass again and found there was a slight pull in the direction of the center of the field. She squealed again while she put it away. Sliding down the slope, she landed on the outskirts of the meadow. Now here was where she had to be careful. The contract would likely establish itself as soon as her magical energy came into contact, so she would have to oppress it for a bit while she put the potion on. She went through the breathing tactics her Dad taught her, watching the compass until it was steadily pointing to the middle of the meadow. This was sort of painful, so she had to act fast. She slowly approached the middle of the meadow, and sure enough, there was in fact a person lying in the middle of it. 

He appeared to be the correct gender, presenting masculine for the most part, and was relatively toned, though she did admit he had pretty fair features. She studied him for a bit, trying to take a screenshot of her emotional state so she’d have something in comparison to after the contract was established. He had black, fluffy hair that was pulled back, with a singular lock draped in front of his face. His eyes were open (fucking weird) and she could tell they were a light brown, if not golden color. Strong cheekbones and high eyebrows, he would definitely be considered conventionally attractive. So overall, an acknowledgment that he was indeed attractive, but not any attraction from her part. She repeated that last bit in her mind over and over again, trying to establish this in her brain so she didn’t end up gaslighting herself if the summoning did go badly. 

She looked around his face, trying to find where the mole that contained that Love Spot would be, and finally she found it, resting just underneath his right eye. Slowly, as if she were afraid of startling him, she brought out the small pot that contained the counter curse and a tiny cotton swab. She dipped it into the mixture and extended her arm out (she was afraid of getting too close) until she was gently brushing the swab against the mole. 

She applied and reapplied it until that spot on his face gently shone from the moisture. However, beyond that, there were really no physical effects. She wouldn’t know until after the contract was established if it had worked. Mentally saying ‘fuck it’ she dumped the entire pot over his face and went to stand up. Stomach turning in knots, she slowly moved back to stand a little bit away from him, planting her feet so she was looking down at his head, his legs pointing away from her. She slowly let her magic go, and already she could feel the pull of the command seals trying to establish contact with him. She closed her eyes and held her hand out, repeating the summoning ritual the book said was needed (though she questioned the necessity if the servant was already here):

“I hereby declare. Your body shall serve under me. My fate shall be your sword. Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail If you will submit to this will and this reason…Then answer! From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three greet words of power, Come forth from the ring of restraints, Protector of the Holy Balance!“

She felt the contract establish, almost like a hook snagging onto a rope. Her command seals burned slightly and she already felt the drain her servant was having on her magic. Still, she didn’t open her eyes, not when she felt that, nor when she heard rustling in front of her. Trying to memorize how she was feeling in this exact moment, and repeating her conclusions to herself she tried to prepare for the inevitable. 

“Master?” a soft voice emerged from right in front of her, which almost startled her into opening her eyes. Stilling herself, she counted to three before opening one eye, almost as if she could take it back if it went amiss, and looked at the man before her. 

Diarmuid, (and their contract made it so she knew he was a lancer, success!) was kneeling in front of her, eyes glued to the ground just before her feet. His eyebrows were furrowed, but this was still very much improvement from the vacant stare she saw a few moments earlier. His hair was wet from when she dumped the potion over him, hair lock sticking to the side of his face, and the moisture traveling down his head. And… an acknowledgment that he was attractive, but she wasn’t necessarily attracted to him. She opened her eyes fully. She didn’t feel compelled or unnaturally pulled by him. It worked. It worked! The curse was gone! She grinned at him and shouted in excitement, which caused his eyebrows to raise but he didn’t bring his gaze up from the ground. Amilia proceeded to have a full freakout.

“I did it! I did it, I did it, I did it, I did it! Yes! I can’t believe it worked! Yahoo!” she spun around before stopping in front of him. “I'm your master!” she said excitedly.

“So it would seem,” he said, the barest hint of a smile gracing his lips. However, it quickly fell. “I am Diarmuid Ua Duibne, first spear of the Knights of Fianna. I am here as a servant to serve you, Master, and to help you acquire the Holy Grail,” he stated, much more formally. He still wouldn’t look up at her. Startled by the formality, it took her a moment to respond.

“Ah, yes I am Amilia Velvet, and I’m here to acquire the Grail, I guess,” she ended lamely, rubbing at her neck. Diarmuid’s eyebrow quirked at the word ‘guess’, but he said nothing. An awkward silence hung on them for a few moments, to which Diarmuid still wouldn’t move. She blinked at him, “Um, you can get up now,” she informed him.

“Do you not need me at the present moment?” he asked, still kneeling.

“Well, no, but--” he vanished before her eyes. Intellectually she still felt him in basically the same area, but it still freaked her out that an entire person that was there, just wasn’t. “Wait come back!” she called as if she needed to be louder. He re-emerged in the exact same position. Okay, this was getting old.

“I don’t _need_ you to do anything right now, but I still want you physically here.” She could practically see the gears turning in his head. “God, please, walk with me?” she huffed. Finally, he stood up from his position where he was kneeling, but he still would not look her in the eye. _Baby steps_ , she told herself. She walked past him, motioning for him to follow, which he did several paces behind. When they got to the top of the slope, she went to descend, and Diarmuid made a motion like he was going to grab her. However, he pulled away at the last second.

“Do you need help down, Master?” he asked.

“Nope! I’m good,” she said, already disappearing under the lip, “Thank you though!” she called after him. It only took a few moments for her to climb down, but when her feet touched solid ground, she turned to find Diarmuid already standing beside her. She did a double-take and then squeaked. 

“Did I startle you?” he asked.

“No!” she immediately responded, even though he did, “Yeah,” she admitted. He tilted his head slightly. “Just, come on.” she started making her way back down the mountain again, but when she turned around she found Diarmuid looking at his surroundings. She paused, waiting for him. After a moment, he spoke.

“Pardon me speaking out of turn, but is this the Benbulbin mountains?” 

She nodded. “Yeah, why?”

His face scrunched up and he turned away from her, “Why is it you chose to summon me here?”

Shit, did he not know his body was just chilling there? So he thought she deliberately summoned him in the place he died…Fuck “No, I didn’t summon you.” she started to explain. He titled his head in her direction but still didn’t turn fully around. “This Grail War is different from the other ones, you were already there in the clearing I found you in. I didn’t draw a circle and call forth your form, I just established a contract. Blame the Grail for where it chose to dump you.” She bit her lip worriedly, she really hoped they didn’t start off on the wrong foot, that would just be terrible.

“So my body was already physically there, you merely ‘woke’ me up?” he asked, finally turning back around but _still_ not making eye contact.

“Yes, essentially,” she confirmed, glad he understood so quickly.

“I see,” he said and started down the mountain again, this time passing her, “Fate never ceases to be cruel, does she?” he said as he was passing. 

“Man you got that right,” she responded, not really knowing what to say to that. Now she was staring at his back as they walked down the mountain again, there was an obvious tension in his shoulders, and he walked as if every step was a calculation. Eventually, he brought his hands up to run them through his hair, shaking them slightly. No doubt to dry his hair after she dumped the potion all over it.

So not _exactly_ what she was expecting when she went to establish a contract, but she still was amazed her counter-curse worked.

When they got back to the bus stop, she again hid behind a rock and reemerged her bags, carrying them. Diarmuid watched her for a few moments.

“Master, do you need help?” he asked. 

She turned to him, “Would you? I’d appreciate it!” 

He nodded and took one of her bags, tension-releasing slightly from his shoulders. Was not having a task really stressing him out that much? The bus pulled up, and now they both had an easier time boarding. She sat down in an empty seat by the window, and after a moment's hesitation, he sat in the aisle seat next to her. He turned his body away as if he was afraid of touching her, hands placed on his legs, and scrunched into fists. Once again, an awkward silence hung over them. She noticed the moisture was mostly gone from his hair, it was surprising how quickly it had dried. She dug through her purse and brought out some packaged trail mix.

“Want some?” she offered. He looked at them, confused before shaking his head.

“No thank you.” She shrugged and started eating. The only sound that could be heard was the soft murmur of the other passengers and her quiet chewing as she stared out the window.

“If I may ask a question,” Diarmuid said eventually. She looked over.

“Go for it,” she said through her trail mix.

“What is going to be our strategy when we get to Fuyuki?”

She raised an eyebrow, “Fuyuki? Like in Japan?”

Diarmuid balked, “Yes, that’s where the war is being conducted is it not?”

“It's sort of a Battle Royal situation. I forgot to mention, every servant who sits on the throne of heroes has been summoned to Earth in a similar fashion you were.”

Diarmuid processed that information for a bit, “So nothing like it was last time,” he said almost under his breath.

“You were summoned before?” Amilia asked.

“Only once,” he said, and offered no explanation. She could physically feel him clamp up after that, and the somewhat easy conversation immediately died. She didn’t want to press, though she did want to learn more. It was obvious that whatever happened was painful for him. Her heart clenched.

“Yeah, so essentially we’re here to make sure everything doesn’t fuck itself over. But also…” She took a few moments to decide how she wanted to word this. Diarmuid didn’t look at her but she could tell he was waiting for a response. “My Dad ran off to join the war without telling me. I don’t know where he is, what servant he has, or if he’s okay. Getting the Grail would sort of just be a bonus, I’m mostly trying to find him. But officially I’m here for damage control.”

“Because of the sheer magnitude of Servants,” Diarmuid provided, and she nodded. “What Grail War is this?” he asked.

“Hmm, the Fifth I believe.” The book only listed that there had been four subsequent Grail Wars so far, anything beyond that was defined in vague terms.

Laner leaned back in his seat, “One right after another…” he mumbled.

Amilia was about to comment on that, but the obvious conclusion to that sentence was that he participated in the Fourth Grail War, and any line of questioning after that would just be prodding, so she stayed silent.

“Hmm.” She offered. The bus thankfully decided to pull into its stop at that point, and they disembarked. It was a different bay than the one she had arrived on, the sea was a remarkable blue and there were shops set up along the coastline. People bustled around and seagulls swooped in between them, trying to find a bite or two to eat.

Already tired of lugging around her luggage again, she brought them into the bathroom and shrunk them again. When she reemerged, Diarmuid was leaning against a pole, thumb resting on his lip, deep in thought. Occasionally, a woman would pass by him and he would follow her with his gaze, but not in a creepy way. It was more like he expected them to do something when they got too close and was preparing to counter whatever that was. 

Looking at him from a distance, she realized he was not in the right get-up at all, he looked like he just walked out of a Renaissance Festival. Before they did anything she’d have to get him clothes.

She went up to him and tapped him on the shoulder, startling him. But instead of jumping a bit he squared his shoulders and walked three paces away from her. She talked as if nothing happened.

“You mentioned the city Fuyuki as the previous battlegrounds for the Grail Wars. Even if it's not officially being held there, Masters might migrate there regardless if they know anything about the Grail. Anyone, there would probably have the strongest desire for the Grail, and as such we’ll see the more nasty fighting for it,” Amilia stated her conclusion, gauging his reaction. He nodded but didn’t respond. “But first--” she said cryptically, she walked past him and motioned for him to follow her, which he did. She walked by a couple of shops until she found one she thought would be suited best. She ushered him inside. It was a small store, but there were still plenty of people inside. Simple, but fashionable clothing dawned the shelves. This would be perfect to get him a new outfit. “We _have_ to get you some clothes,” she said as if finishing her thought. Diarmuid looked like he wanted to object.

“Master, I--”

“Ababbabaap,” she cut him off, “Don’t call me that in public, it’s weird,”

He gave her a look of confusion, and she had to remind herself that this man came from a time where all those titles were normal and didn’t sound like a--Well she didn’t have to finish that thought.

“Just call me Amilia, please?” she sighed.

He looked physically uncomfortable at the prospect of that, “I will do so if you wish.” he answered. She blinked. Was it a formality thing? Did he view her as somehow above him, and that’s why he can’t refer to her casually? That thought left a bitter taste in her mouth, that’s exactly what she was trying to avoid! But… this was about comfort levels. So even if it wasn’t where _she_ wanted them to be at yet, she also didn’t want to push him to do something he didn’t want. She thought for a moment.

“How about Miss Velvet?” she offered, that seemed like a normal, formal default. He looked less uncomfortable at that.

“Miss Velvet, yes I can do that,” he responded.

“Great I--” she was cut off by a sales associate coming up to them. It was a small, petite woman with brown hair pulled into a bun and bangs that fell down just short of her eyes. She had a bubbly air about her, but Amilia figured that was probably her work persona. Diarmuid immediately tensed up when she approached, and looked off to the side, clearly leaving Amilia to do the talking.

“Hello there! Are you guys going to need any help today?”

“No thank you!” Amilia told her, “Just looking around, thank you though!”

“Alrighty well let me know if you need anything!” she responded, not missing a beat, and then retreated back to whatever corner of the store she came from. Diarmuid looked almost surprised by that, but _why_ she wasn't really sure.

“Okay,” she said, turning back to him, “Let’s get you some clothes! What size would you be?” She questioned while leading them to a rack of trousers, comparing his waist and leg size to ones on the rack.

“Ma--Miss Velvet, I hardly see why this is necessary,” he said, though made no move to stop her, “When not needed I can simply disappear, there’s no need for me to be able to blend into the crowd.”

“I’m not going to have this entire partnership being just you do Grail things and then disappear when you're not doing Grail things, you're going to be able to enjoy yourself too.” She found a pair of trousers she’s pretty sure would fit, and went around trying to find other trousers in the same size that she thought would suit Diarmuid well.

“Partnership…” he mumbled, following her around like a puppy. She collected several shirts for him to wear and sent him off into the changing rooms.

“Show me how they look!” she called after him. He did so diligently, and Amilia couldn’t shake the feeling that she was basically the mother making her kid show them every pair of trousers. He looked extremely awkward each time he came out, his hands in fists at his sides as if he didn’t know where to put them. They went through a few different outfits until they got to one she definitely thought he should wear out.

“Wow I think that’s the best one, it looks good on you!”

“Really?” he said, a small hint of a smile emerging. It wasn’t anything spectacular, a green pair of jeans with a grey T-shirt, but he seemed like the type of guy to wear simple stuff really well. It was slightly chilly outside though, so she darted around the store for a bit before finding a really neat khaki blazer to go with it. She gave it to him to put on, smoothing out the collar as he did so.

“Yes! They were all pretty good, but this is a classic. I think it’ll be good for walking around.”

“You think so?” he asked, tugging at the sleeves. She nodded and went to retrieve the other clothing from the room. She put them back up on the counter, to which the same girl from earlier ran them up. She tried to sign them up for a rewards card, to which she denied, all the while Diarmuid was tugging at the sleeves of his new clothing. They exited and she immediately cast magic on the bags when she could because there was no way she was carrying all of them. She turned around to address Diarmuid, but saw that he didn’t take the tags off of any of his clothing. She reached up to remove them. He tensed a little bit, but let her snap the plastic off.

“Alright! Now you don’t look like a renaissance cosplayer! I think we’re ready to get going, but I want to get something to eat first if you don’t mind,” she told him. She noticed for the first time that he was actually wearing dog tags.

“I do not mind one bit, replenish your strength, Miss Velvet.”

_Replenish your strength, you're so funny_ Amilia thought affectionately. He seemed to be coming back into himself a bit more, the tension that held like a taut wire was slowly abating from him. Amilia looked around to see a place they could grab a quick bite to eat. She saw a small MacDonald’s (Or McDonald’s how the Americans called it). Not the greatest, but for a quick bite, it would suffice. She led them inside. Luckily there wasn’t much of a line, so they were basically able to walk right up and order. She gave the cashier her request then turned to Diarmuid and asked what he wanted. He looked surprised she even asked.

“I don’t require anything,” he said.

“C’mon you gotta eat something some time.”

“No, I--” and he looked around trying to find a way to word this without it sounding weird to others. “I literally don’t need anything.”

Servants don't need to eat? Made sense she guessed, not with him acting like a leech against her magic (that wasn’t fair, his mana consumption was low, just like she predicted). She thought of a way to make him eat without ordering him to, she just wanted him to enjoy himself after all.

“It would help me if you did,” she decided. The poor worker at the register was probably so confused as to the conversation happening in front of her. Diarmuid gave in at that and said he’d get the same thing she did.

“Is that all for today?” the server asked, if she thought anything was amiss she was giving a great poker face at it. At the sound of her voice, Diarmuid’s eyes shot to her in surprise and his hands flexed like he was getting ready to fight. _Why the hell are you so jumpy?_ Amilia thought. They gathered their food when it was done and then went to sit down. She immediately unwrapped her food and started to scarf it down, all the magic casting she did always made her super hungry. Diarmuid looked at his food before slowly unwrapping his portion.

“This is modern food then…” he said mostly to himself, “Strange, I never got to experience this last time,” and took a bite. More accurately he attempted to take a bite, only to find the burger snatched out of his hands at the speed of light, and Amilia stuffing all their uneaten food back into the bag at a frantic pace, much to his bewilderment. “Master?” he asked without thinking.

“I will not. Have the first thing you eat in the modern era. Be fucking _MacDonald’s,”_ she said in between her frantic stuffing rage. “You deserve way fucking better than that, and had I known I wouldn’t have ever stepped into here. We’re going somewhere else,” and then she left. Diarmuid sat in his seat for a few seconds, processing what happened before Amilia stuck her head back in and frantically waved at him. He followed her half on auto-pilot.

“Miss Velvet, I really don’t mind what I eat. I don’t _need_ to eat anything,” he called after her as she stamped down the boardwalk.

“I can’t believe you haven’t eaten anything from this era before.” she angrily huffed. “Whoever was your master in the previous war was a fucking idiot. Just because you don’t _need_ to eat doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to.” 

That last statement stunned him into silence, this wasn’t the type of behavior he had learned to expect. He was quiet the rest of the way while Amilia raced down the shop area, no doubt looking for a proper restaurant to serve as Diarmuid’s first time eating as a Servant. Finally, she stopped in front of a small restaurant. The title of the restaurant read Eala Bhan, which looked extremely fancy, and more importantly, seemed to specialize in Irish food. She turned to Diarmuid.

“Is this okay?” He looked up quickly at the restaurant and immediately gave his answer, “Yes, this is fine.” Which told her he hadn’t even thought about it. No matter, he'll have no choice but to order what he wants from here. They entered. The hostess immediately greeted them with a smile. 

“Hello! Do you guys have a reservation?”

Shit, she did not. Amilia took a quick glance around to see if snatching a table would be too terribly inconvenient for anyone and found the restaurant mostly empty. She got out her purse quickly.

“I’m afraid I do not, but is there a way I can be squeezed in regardless?” she asked, flashing a handful of Euros that she kept in her purse. The hostess’s eyes widened and she immediately scampered off. She gave Diarmuid a wink.

“Perks of being a rich guy’s daughter,” she said to him, jokingly of course. She actually had a distaste for the elitist culture that seemed to permeate through the Clock Tower, her father had taught that behavior right out of her. However, if it’s to benefit someone else, it shouldn’t be too bad. Every once in a while. 

The hostess came back from the back with her manager, and Amilia gave a cute saunter up to him, slipping the money into his pocket, saying that she would _greatly_ appreciate it if they could have a table. The man politely removed her arm from where she was resting it but kept the money in his pocket. She was half-relieved that he seemed to have some morals.

“We seem to be in a lull in traffic right now, so I’m sure we can squeeze you in,” he said with a smile, epitome of Service Politeness. She thanked him and they were seated.

“Do you make a habit of that?” Diarmuid asked when they sat down.

“Absolutely not, I actually hate the type of people who regularly do that. If the restaurant hadn’t been as slow as it was I would’ve cut our losses and gone elsewhere.”

Diarmuid hummed at that.

The waitress came up and started to take their drink orders.

“Hi, I’m Kelly, what can I get you for today?” Kelly readied her little notepad. Amilia gave hers with confidence, but Diarmuid seemed to be struggling to decide what he wanted. He looked up at her, then at the waitress.

“I’ll have a beer if that’s okay?” Somehow asking both of them. 

Amilia nodded. “Yeah. I can’t though, I’m not of age yet.”

At that Kelly started to give Diarmuid a serious stink eye, looking ready to stab him with the pen she had. He looked back at her, totally oblivious to the conclusion she just came to. Amilia jumped in.

“My brother’s been working overseas, so we thought we’d catch up a bit over lunch. Right, Lance?” she said a little too loudly, and only then did Diarmuid seem to register what was happening, nodding frantically.

“Oh!” Kelly exclaimed, “Yes of course you are.” She turned a little bit red at that, obviously embarrassed she even thought of that in the first place, and Amilia felt a little bad about lying. But they couldn’t have them coming to the wrong conclusion. “Well I’ll get those drinks,” and she scampered off.

“Lance?” he asked when she was gone.

“You know like, Lancer, Lance. Shut up I had three seconds,” she said in mock-anger. Diarmuid gave another one of his half-smiles at that. The waitress came back with Amilia’s lime and soda and Diarmuid’s beer. Then she was gone just as quickly. It came in a typical glass mug and frothed a little at the top. He studied it for a bit, then went to grab it, and almost dropped it, reeling back his arm like it had been burned.

“Oh that’s cold!” he exclaimed.

“Did you guys drink warm beer where you're from?” Amilia asked, baffled by his bafflement. She took a sip of her drink while she talked.

“Well, when brought up from the cellar it was cool. But I’ve never heard of glass mugs, and that’s certainly the coldest thing that I’ve felt during the summer. Ah, so this must be the power of those ‘refrigerators’ then.”

“You know what refrigerators are?” she asked. Diarmuid reached out tentatively to grip the handle of the mug and brought it to his face, taking a few long swigs. He made a noise of exclamation.

“That’s really good! I can get used to this! And to answer your question, yes, the Grail provides all servants with knowledge of the modern era. I wasn’t in a position where I got to interact with a lot of it, but I know what things they are.” He started taking a long drink again. If he kept up this rate of consumption her tabs going to be way bigger than she expected, not that it wasn’t doable of course.

“But there are gaps then,” she observed. He tilted his head after he was done, wiping the froth off of his lip. “Like, you didn’t know that beer was served in glasses, or that it would be cold. It was only when you got to the word ‘refrigerator’ that you realized what it was.”

He hummed at that, “I assume the Grail gives whatever information it thinks it’s relevant.” 

Amilia took another sip of her drink, “But wouldn’t it be relevant just for the fact that you’d interact with people who do know? What does a wish-granting cup consider relevant?”

Diarmuid shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. The waitress came back with a refill for him, taking away the now emptied mug. Amilia barely skimmed the top of her drink, so she denied another.

“Are we ready to order?” the waitress asked. Slightly startled, it took a minute for her to respond, but apparently Diarmuid knew exactly what he wanted.

“May I order the lamb?” he asked.

“Yes of course! Anything else?” 

“That will be all, thank you, Miss,” he said, he looked at her while he ordered, but then went to stare at his beer after he was done.

Amilia finally found her tongue after Diarmuid ordered, “Can I have the chicken please?” she said, and the waitress gave more or less the same response.

“Do you guys want any starters?” she asked. Oh! There was something she wanted to try.

“Yes! Actually, those goat cheese fritters you have?”

“Of course!” she said, writing it down. “I’ll get those right out for you,” she said, her eyes lingered on Diarmuid for a fraction of a second but then she was gone. Slightly disturbed by that, she gave Diarmuid a quick magic analysis but didn’t find anything amiss with the mole or anything else. He _was_ attractive, so maybe the waitress was genuinely interested. It’s not like he was so ugly that he needed to rely on the curse to get women. Amilia took another sip of her soda. Diarmuid practically downed his second drink. She was glad honestly, he finally seemed to be opening up a fraction of a bit.

“I hope you can’t get drunk, I don’t want to deal with an awnry super-human,” she said jokingly. 

Diarmuid shook his head, “You don’t need to worry about that,” he said, completely serious. She was about to explain that she was joking when she noticed their waitress talking with the bartender. Kelly was flailing her arms around, obviously passionately explaining something to the bartender, who was nodding along to what Kelly was saying. She made a comment that made Kelly go into hysterics, then they looked quickly at their table and retreated to the back. _She’s definitely going to make a move_ Amilia thought, _I hope it doesn’t go too terribly._ Sure enough, when she came back out with their appetizers she stuck around for a little bit, talking up a storm with Diarmuid. He lied amazingly well, coming up with a business and what he did within that business on the fly. She did that thing where she lightly pushed on Diarmuid’s arm when he made a joke (or what she perceived as a joke), that almost made Amilia choke on her drink. She was really laying it on thick, but Diarmuid seemed either oblivious or purposefully ignoring her signals. Kelly was an attractive woman, bright blonde with hair that was set up in a braid she had wrapped around her head in a tight bun. Diarmuid was nothing but polite to her, but a part of her noticed a sadness when he looked at her, but Amilia couldn’t guess as to why. 

Kelly retreated for a short while, but that was only to bring out their entrees, then she disappeared to the back again. She probably didn’t want to disturb too much what was (to her) a brother and sister reconnecting, which was a nice gesture, Amilia thought. They ate mostly in silence, Diarmuid taking slow bites of his food, obviously enjoying the sensation of eating after so long, meanwhile, Amilia practically inhaled her portion, her still feeling the hunger pains from all her magic use. When they were all done, Kelly diligently cleared their plates and left them the bill. Amilia went to open it and it felt like Kelly was going to lunge at her hand. Her customer service skills kicked in just in time. She swung her arm around and clasped it with her other hand.

“Were you taking care of the bill?” she said cheerily.

 _Ah so you left your number in here,_ Amilia smirked. “Yes, Lance hasn’t had the chance to reconvert his money yet so I said this round would be on me.”

Kelly looked like she was about to die inside, “Oh okay,” she responded, and then practically ran behind the bar and ducked down. After a moment the bartender came back and started casually cleaning cups, but Amilia saw her lips moving a little bit so she guessed she was giving Kelly updates. Amilia opened up the tab and sure enough, tucked into their receipt was a scrap piece of paper with a phone number on it. She handed it over to Diarmuid.

“I believe this is for you,” she said.

“What is it?” he said, taking it.

“Kelly’s number.”

He opened it and looked at it for a few seconds, “For her phone?” Amilia nodded, “Why?” Ah, information gap. Guess the Grail didn’t think information about how to get hot chicks would be relevant.

“Women in this time period tend to give men their phone numbers if they wish to… court them let’s say.”

Diarmuid immediately went cold at that, staring at the number in front of him, panic spreading across his face, then made a quick glance towards the bar area. The bartender was giving a great poker face, you wouldn’t have been able to tell she’d been listening at all. There was a slight clatter underneath the bar. 

“But that’s… she didn’t act how they usually…” he mumbled. After a few moments, he stood up and made his way to the bar. The bartender quickly put down the cup she had been cleaning for the past forty-five minutes and went into the back, and Kelly conveniently sprang up from behind the bar. He went straight to her and handed her back the piece of paper. He said something to her and bowed slightly. Kelly looked surprised but she took the rejection well, shaking her head and Amilia thought she could make out “That’s totally fine,” repeated a couple of times. He nodded, bowed again, and then retreated. While this was going on Amilia opted to leave all the cash in her purse for them, rejection can’t be easy and they’ve done so much for them already. She gathered her things and waited by the door for Diarmuid. He walked out without looking at her, and she turned to Kelly making a ‘sorry’ gesture. Kelly waved her off, though it was obvious it stung a bit, but really Amilia hadn’t encountered anyone who took something like that with half the grace Kelly did. Amilia really liked her, she thought, as she exited. 

Diarmuid was sitting by a fountain when she went to join him.

“Thank you for the meal. It was one of the best things I’ve eaten in a long time,” he said absently, again playing with the hem of his clothing.

“No problem, I want your stay here to be as comfortable as possible,” she replied. If he wanted to pretend nothing happened that’s okay. “Do we want to get going?” 

Diarmuid stood up but made no move to follow her. She waited for him patiently. Eventually, he spoke:

“She didn’t act like they usually act. She was friendly but she wasn’t… lovestruck like they usually are,” he scratched at his neck, “Usually when I turn them down they act like their entire life shattered before their eyes. She acted like she was just told they didn’t have her favorite fruit at the market.” Amilia stifled a laugh at the analogy, “No one today has acted as I’ve expected. Neither have you,” he said and looked her in the eye for the first time since the contract was established, “Thank you, you’ve made an effort to act as if it's not affecting you, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.”

Amilia blanked as to what he was talking about, before having the dawning realization that she may have not told him that his curse was gone. Running through their entire time together she realized, yeah, she fucked up. She didn’t tell him his fucking curse was gone.

“It’s gone,” she blurted out now. Diarmuid didn’t answer her for a few moments.

“What?”

“I was able to put a counter-curse onto you given how you were set up. Then the magic used to establish the contract solidified it. You don’t have your curse anymore, I got rid of it,” She pursed her lips. She can’t believe she fucked up this badly. The silence in the air hung like a heavy quilt for several moments.

Then Diarmuid laughed.

It was a short bark of a sound, almost as if it was forced out of him. He closed his eyes, turning from her slightly, and rested his thumb on his lip, as if regaining his composure. When he looked at her again his eyes were shining.

“The curse that has haunted most of my adult life, and I’m summoned to a person who gets rid of it like it's nothing,” he said, grinning full force now. It was infectious, his smile, and she felt her own grin grow in return.

“You wanna know the hilarious thing?” she started, almost giddy now. As she talked more giggles started to permeate throughout her speech, “I made one of my friends sign a Geas scroll in case the cure didn’t work. So if you still _had_ the curse you wouldn’t have been my servant! If I fall in love with you at _all_ actually, you’ll be his servant. Did I mention this to you? No! I am, _so_ sorry!”

Diarmuid processed what she said and then also started to laugh, “Wait, wait… hold on. Is that why my hair was _wet_ when I woke up? _That_ was the counter-curse?”

She couldn’t even talk through her laughter, she just nodded helplessly. Another bark from Diarmuid, which also evolved into a full-blown laughing fit. They stood there, laughing for way longer than necessary, getting looks from the people around them. In the midst of it, she remembered another thing she forgot.

“Oh shit I forgot to call my friend.” she laughed, getting her phone out.

“The same friend that signed the Geas scroll for you?” Diarmuid giggled.

“Yeah! I told him I would call him after I summoned you if it went well. And then I didn’t!” Another round of laughing started up again even though that part wasn’t even that funny. She quickly dialed her friend's number, motioning for Diarmuid to be quiet, something they were both failing at. After three rings Rika picks up.

“Oh my god, where the fuck were you, I thought you died!” Rika screamed through the phone. Her and Diarmuid tried to stop laughing but then burst into hysterics again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diarmuid! Yay! I really just wanted to make sure that the two of them started off on a good, master/servant dynamic. No misinterpreting actions no unnecessary drama, just being real on both ends. However, they still have a learning curve which will be evident later on. I also am really trying to word it so Diarmuid's case doesn't come across as "Woah is me, women just love me toooo much!" and more like "My curse causes women to forget all common sense and decency," trampling over his boundaries after he's already said no. There's more to come, so thank you for reading! The next portion will be in Diarmuid's perspective, let me know what you think!
> 
> Edit: Minor spelling/grammar


	4. Rewind: Diarmuid

When he woke up for the first time, he had thought it was all a dream. The Grail War, his master, Saber, his death, it all seemed like an illusion. That he would turn his head and see Fionn sitting with hands dripping with water, grateful and relieved that he was awake. The smile that always filled Diarmuid with courage would be directed at him, long fair hair billowing around Fionn’s face like a halo. That must be what the moisture on his face was, Fionn must’ve been able to find a stream in time. Then he sat up and turned to find a girl standing in front of him, eyes closed and face scrunched up as if she had just eaten a sour lemon. On her hand sat a red sigil, the command seals no doubt, and he felt his own servant status very keenly. As such, he was forced to remember the things he wanted desperately to forget. The girl didn't look at him for a little bit, and he subtly shifted his stance to go from lying down to kneeling. The perfect knight, if that meant anything to anyone anymore. They sat like that for a while, before Lancer felt the need to speak up:

“Master?” he tentatively asked. The girl jumped and cracked one eye open, and he tensed, waiting for the inevitable. The gaping of the mouth, widening of the eyes, the subtle up creep of her eyebrows. He waited for his curse to ruin his life once again. How was he going to handle this? Last time it was merely magical energy that Sola-Ui provided to him, but now this girl would be in direct control of him. Sola-Ui never did anything with the command seals, but he could practically sense that she wanted to, even as an afterthought. The resistance he would be able to put up against them would be marginal. His brows furrowed as he remembered his helplessness to them in the previous war.

He waited for all this to happen, but surprisingly it didn’t. She cracked one eye open, which then was followed by the other, and then a look of unadulterated joy spread across her face. She started to celebrate, arms flapping about as she did a small dance to and fro in front of him, shouting words of merriment. She stopped and spun around to him, still wearing that wide smile.

“I’m your master!” she exclaimed with such happiness that Diarmuid couldn’t help but feel his lip quirk up in response, momentarily taken away with her joy.

“So it would seem,” he responded before thinking.

Then he remembered that Saber once smiled at him in a similar way, and what small happiness he was able to grasp fell away from him like sand. He gave her the line he gave Kayneth when he first summoned him:

“I am Diarmuid Ua Duibne, first spear of the Knights of Fianna. I am here as a servant to serve you, Master, and to help you acquire the Holy Grail.”

The girl seemed startled for a moment, before giving her name, Amilia Velvet, and that she sought the Grail, she guessed. She guessed? He never would’ve thought he would get a Master so lukewarm to the idea of the Grail. Before the Fourth War that may have bothered him, but now… now he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to think. They sat like that for a few moments before she dismissed him, only to call him right back and tell him she wanted him physically there, and to walk with her. This exchange was already going so against what he expected he just rolled with it. When they got to the lip of the alcove they were in he went to help her down, only to find she seemed to be managing just fine on her own. He teleported his form down to the bottom, where he managed to frighten her slightly. Then they were walking. So she was the type to do things by herself. That was fine, although he felt his hands fidgeting at not being able to do anything. Last time he was given a set of tasks right away and as such felt like he was contributing. Now he felt like something was slipping by him, but he couldn’t grasp as to what that was. He was pulled from his thoughts when he realized he recognized the area they were in. He spoke to her directly for the first time.

“Pardon me speaking out of turn, but is this the Benbulbin mountains?” 

Master nodded. “Yeah, why?”

An irrational sort of anger sprung up inside of him at that, one born from hurt and trampled trust. He turned away from her quickly so she wouldn’t see it on his face. Was it really necessary to be this needlessly cruel? Sure there were benefits if summoned in his homeland but did it have to be _here_ of all places? He asked this of her, fighting down the sudden urge to kick at the ground like a toddler. She then explained that his body had already been summoned there, and she merely established a contract in order to wake him up. As quickly as it came, he felt his anger abate from him, leaving an empty bitterness behind.

“Fate never ceases to be cruel, does she?” he told her, walking past. She responded but he didn’t hear it. As he walked the moisture on his head started to bother him, and he ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to dry it. _Why is my hair wet?_ He wondered, distracted.

They arrived at the bus stop, and Master disappeared for a short time before remerging with two luggage cases. _What’s the purpose of those?_ He thought, before asking if he could help, seeing as it seemed she was struggling. This time she graciously accepted his help. It was a small thing, but even holding this suitcase made him feel a bit better. He had a task now and he was fulfilling it.

The bus arrived and they boarded. After putting their bags up he realized she was already sitting by the window, he could sit down somewhere else, but it was his job to protect her, plus it would be simply rude to sit in a different seat. He sat down next to her but wanted to avoid giving her any ideas so he shifted away from her slightly. She seemed oblivious to this and dug around in her handbag until she produced a snack of some sort, and offered some to him. Taken aback, he refused out of reflex. She proceeded to eat the entire thing. All this time, no talk about strategies and what was going to be expected of him. Merely, existing in each other’s space. That crawling feeling was back, the feeling of being unproductive, and he asked about their strategy for when they get to Fuyuki.

“Fuyuki? Like in Japan?” Master asked, surprised. Did she not even know that?

“Yes, that’s where the war is being conducted is it not?”

“It's sort of a Battle Royal situation. I forgot to mention, every servant who sits on the throne of heroes has been summoned to Earth in a similar fashion you were,” she said, trying to look him in the eye.

Diarmuid processed that information for a bit, “So nothing like it was last time,” he said almost under his breath.

“You were summoned before?” Master asked.

“Only once,” he said, he was surprised she even heard him. He really hoped she didn’t force him to elaborate, and thankfully she didn’t, seeming to jump to the next conversation topic.

“Yeah, so essentially we’re here to make sure everything doesn’t fuck itself over. But also…” She paused for a couple of moments, looking off to the side. He waited for her, “My Dad ran off to join the war without telling me. I don’t know where he is, what servant he has, or if he’s okay. Getting the Grail would sort of just be a bonus, I’m mostly trying to find him. But officially I’m here for damage control.” She talked as if the whole thing didn’t bother her, but it was clear that it did. However, since she didn’t force him to elaborate then he wouldn’t either.

“Because of the sheer magnitude of Servants,” Diarmuid said instead. She nodded absentmindedly, “What Grail War is this?”

“Hmm, the Fifth I believe,” she said, tapping her chin.

Diarmuid sunk into his seat, “One right after another…” he mumbled. 

Master hummed at that statement.

When the bus pulled into its station Master immediately ran off to the restroom with both of her bags. Diarmuid waited for her but made sure to be aware of her presence in case the trip somehow went amiss. There were a lot of people around, and also a lot of couples out walking together, arm in arm. Whenever one would pass him his stomach would drop, and he waited for the moment they would turn, look at him, and then an altercation would ensue as she would chase after him, and the significant other would understandably be a bit upset by that. But such a moment never came. If anything he was receiving _weird_ looks, people looking him up and down and would quirk their eyebrow before making a comment to their friend, sometimes pointing at him. This wasn’t something he was used to, and he was about to start speculating what on earth he could be doing to receive this attention when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Thinking he got caught off guard, he walked away from them before turning and realizing it was his Master. She told him that from what he said, they should go to Fuyuki anyway seeing as that would be the main battleground. A solid strategy, he nodded but had nothing to add.

“But first,” she then said and gave him a devilish grin. She led him through the boardwalk, for so long that he was starting to wonder what she was getting at, before abruptly entering a garment shop, “We _have_ to get you some new clothes,” she finished her sentence. He was about to inform her that he didn’t really need any when she cut him off and told him to not address him by Master, but by Amilia instead.

That was way too intimate for him at the moment, if he started addressing her like that it would imply familiarity, and if there’s familiarity she might think that… no there’s no way. However, it was his Master ordering him to do this and if he refused, well he didn’t want to think about that either. He agreed to call her Amilia.

She looked at him for several moments before sighing, “How about Miss Velvet?” she asked, even though he had just agreed to call her Amilia. His shoulders released the tension they’d been holding.

“Miss Velvet, yes I can do that.”

At that moment a woman who apparently worked there approached them and started inquiring about their shopping experience. Not wanting to cause a scene, he politely stepped back from the conversation. They exchanged a set of words that sounded almost rehearsed on both ends, and then he was up by a trouser rack, Master, no, Miss Velvet holding different pairs up to him trying to guess his size. He tried again to inform her that he didn’t need modern clothing, only to be brushed off.

“I’m not going to have this entire partnership being just you do Grail things and then disappear when you're not doing Grail things, you're going to be able to enjoy yourself too,” she said forcefully, speeding off into the store to look for more things.

Partnership? Is that really how she viewed this? 

Miss Velvet thrust the pile of clothes she procured and ushered him into one of the ‘changing rooms,’ telling him to show the outfits he tried on.

It was embarrassing, but at the same time, it was also sort of nice. When they were younger Fionn would do something similar, usher them into countless seamstresses and have Diarmuid act as the ‘model’ to determine whether he would want the fabric from them or not. He took a strange joy in trying on outfits, and to hear praises for how he looked in them… well that tickled a part of his ego he couldn’t deny. What he ended up wearing when they left the shop wasn’t like anything he had worn before, but it was comfortable and easy to move in, and he agreed that he looked good in it. 

Miss Velvet then expressed her desire to eat, almost as if asking his permission to do so. She led them into a small ‘fast food’ restaurant and after ordering asked him what he wanted. He had no idea how to inform her that Servants don’t need to eat without it sounding strange to the people around him, but he thought it eventually clicked. Then she said:

“It would help me if you did.” 

Which he thought was the closest thing to an actual order he’d gotten today. It was so subtle it almost went over his head, he almost denied her again. 

He ordered the same thing as her. The cashier then spoke, which startled him because he hadn’t realized that they were a woman. She didn't register his presence though, seemingly more interested in typing in what he wanted so she could get on with her job. What the hell was going on?

When their food arrived all he could do was stare at it. Miss Velvet tore into her portion with gusto, but he was just marveling at the fact that almost everything came wrapped up in something. He reached out to the thing closest to him, a sandwich of some sort if the general felt told him anything, and then made an offhand comment about not eating last time.

Miss Velvet took that way more seriously than he thought, she immediately packed up everything they had just ordered and she was out the door before he could say anything. She popped back in and motioned for him to follow.

She practically marched down the sidewalk, fuming at the ears. People subconsciously got out of her way, and all he could do was follow in her wake, actually picking up pace in order to keep up with her.

“Miss Velvet, I really don’t mind what I eat. I don’t _need_ to eat anything,” he called after her.

“I can’t believe you haven’t eaten anything from this era before.” She didn’t turn back to look at him, seemingly ignoring what he had just said, though he could tell she was angry, “Whoever was your master in the previous war was a fucking idiot. Just because you don’t _need_ to eat doesn’t mean you don’t _deserve_ to.” 

Diarmuid almost stopped dead in his tracks at that. There were a million things that were on his tongue, a rebuttal for his previous master, a denial that he deserved to eat, really it isn’t _that_ bad he hadn’t gotten anything, Kayneth was very busy and had other things to attend to he didn’t have _time_ to--

All of these things died on his tongue. He realized that he _had_ missed eating, a lot actually. Now the prospect of food was making his mouth water, and he could've sworn he felt a slight hunger pain at the notion. Surly an indulgence such as this couldn’t be any harm. It’s not like eating could possibly _hurt_ him. He followed after her, actually getting excited over what he might eat next.

They walked until Miss Velvet abruptly stopped in front of a building and asked if this one way was okay. Almost beside himself, he didn’t even care where they went at this point and said yes, yes it was. Entering the tavern, there was another woman standing behind a podium of sorts, and she asked them if they had a reservation. Miss Velvet says no, but then pulls out several pieces of paper, money, he reminds himself and the hostess scampers off, bringing out the manager who Miss Velvet then gives the money to for a table. Then they’re seated.

“Do you make a habit of that?” he asked.

“Absolutely not, I actually hate the type of people who regularly do that. If the restaurant hadn’t been as slow as it was I would’ve cut our losses and gone elsewhere,” she said, slightly indignant. 

He hummed at that. 

Then their server arrived, and he almost did a double-take. She was almost the spitting image of Saber, blonde hair that, despite being coiled up in a bun, he could tell was very long. She introduced herself as Kelly, and it was only then that he started seeing the differences, Saber had green eyes, Kelly had brown, while Saber was slightly pale, Kelly had a tanned complexion about her. She also talked more similarly to him than she did to Saber. He was beside himself for a moment, and as such when asked for his drink he found himself fumbling. He saw beer on the menu and that looked absolutely amazing to him, but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed, or if Miss Velvet would be comfortable. He asked, and she said yes, but mentioned not being able to drink yet, and he was so caught up with the Saber mixup and the beer that he didn’t realize how that made him look in terms of companionship. Luckily, Miss Velvet cleared it up quickly enough. With a _questionable_ choice of a nickname, however.

When the beer was brought out he was confused by the container at first, and even more confused as to how _cold_ said container was, until he remembered that refrigerators were a thing in this era. The beer was the best thing he’s tasted in a while, and for the first time, he felt something settle in his bones, and like he was more himself than he had been even when he was alive. Miss Velvet was trying to have some philosophical discussion about what knowledge the Grail gave him, but he found that he didn’t care that much. He had a beer and good food coming along the way, he didn’t need anything else at the moment. Servant duties and Grail Wars were the furthest things from his mind at the moment. Though he did reassure Miss Velvet that he would not become ‘awnry’ in her words because of the drink.

Kelly came back out with the goat cheese fritters (which were _amazing_ he had to stop himself from eating all of them), and they had a good chat about the job he didn’t have and her job that she _did_ have and he actually forgot about his curse for a short while. He was genuinely engaged in a friendly discussion with someone. Kelly was attractive, but there was no romantic spark for him that would implore him to try to deepen the relationship, but genuine banter was a gift in its own right. He did wonder if he said anything wrong when she didn’t come back for their main meal but figured there was probably some duties she had to do in the back.

The lamb was phenomenal, back in his time it was a delicacy in and of itself but however, the chef prepared it made it mouth-wateringly good. If they had been back in his era he would’ve marched back to the kitchens and demanded the chef join the Fianna, if only to further cook for them. Fionn would be ecstatic to have a man of his skill in his ranks. A slight ache cut through his otherwise merry mood, but he resolved to ignore it.

Kelly came back out for the tab, and it must be Diarmuid’s eyes playing tricks on him, but for a moment he thought Kelly was going to strike at Miss Velvet, and he felt himself tense reflexively to defend her. She merely clarified that Miss Velvet was taking care of the bill, which made him think he was so unaccustomed to peace that he was looking for violence where there wasn’t any. Kelly ran off again and Miss Velvet was handing him a slip of paper.

“I believe this is for you,” she said.

“What is it?” he said, taking it.

“Kelly’s number.” Miss Velvet rested her head on the heel of her hand.

He opened it and indeed there were a series of numbers that implied he could contact her with, “For her phone?” Amilia nodded, “Why?” Why did she want to communicate with him? 

“Women in this time period tend to give men their phone numbers if they wish to… court them let’s say,” Miss Velvet explained, watching his reaction.

Any good feeling he had somehow scraped together during the dinner was immediately washed away by the tide of his panic. He stared at the innocent paper in front of him for several seconds, as if looking at it for long enough would force it to become something else. He looked around to where the giver may have gone. He saw the entrance to the back and resolved to find her even if he had to make a fool of himself. He stood up and made his way closer to the bar, to which the bartender who had been standing there went into the back and Kelly sprang up from behind the counter. Slightly surprised, but not to be dissuaded, he held out the paper in front of him and bowed, even as he realized that wasn’t quite right for this era. In this country at least.

“Miss Kelly, I am flattered that you found it fit to hand this to me, and I am by no means trying to discount you or your beauty when returning this to you. However, at this time I cannot accept this advancement from you. I hope you can forgive me.” He waited for tears, sobbing, bawling, throwing herself at his feet, and begging that he change his mind. His stomach dropped three stories just thinking about it. Sweat beaded down the side of his head. Kelly instinctively grabbed the paper back when he handed it to her and looked like she was still processing what was going on.

“That’s totally fine!” she said eventually, with maybe more mirth than was entirely truthful, “I was just… wanting to get to know you better but if a romantic avenue isn’t what you're looking for that’s alright! I understand! Don’t feel bad about it, it’s totally fine,” she laughed, waving him off a couple of times. He had never gotten this reaction before, upkeeping his boundaries and respecting his decision, so he wasn’t quite sure what to do right now. He awkwardly bowed again (wrong era!) and then immediately exited the building. Totally abandoning his master, he walked forward until he found a water fountain to sit by, and he almost collapsed, heart, pounding a mile a minute he tried desperately to get his breathing back in control. After a moment or two, he heard footsteps and he almost thought it was her again, running after him and going to force herself on him anyway, but when he looked up it wasn’t blonde locks he saw, but dark ones. So dark that he thought there was an almost purple hue to them. 

Miss Velvet.

He honest to gods almost had tears sprung to his eyes, she had tried so hard this entire time to help him, but merely by being who he was he was messing things up for the both of them. It had to be affecting her too, he just knew it. But out of some duty to him or resolve to herself she was purposefully choosing to ignore it. How honorable. He wasn’t sure if he was worthy of such honor anymore. All he could do is thank her for the smallest thing she provided today, that at least he could put into proper words.

“No problem,” she said, even though he was sitting right there, “I want your stay here to be as comfortable as possible.” His heart pinched at that, “Do we want to get going?” He went to follow her, but something forced him to stop. Suddenly, he was talking, rambling more like, just letting all the thoughts that had been swirling in his brain out and dumped them onto the floor like ale out of a drunken man’s tankard. She looked severely confused for several seconds before she replied.

“It’s gone.” He asked her what she meant, “I was able to put a counter-curse onto you given how you were set up. Then the magic used to establish the contract solidified it. You don’t have your curse anymore, I got rid of it.”

It’s...gone? His curse was gone? Was that why no one had been acting like they usually do in front of him? Because there was no outside force pushing them? _His curse was gone?_

His curse was gone.

It felt like several large stones had been placed on him without him knowing, and they had been suddenly lifted away. He felt lighter than he had in years, his fight with Saber had been the closest he had gotten to this feeling in decades. He was free! He didn’t have to worry about turning people away gently, them getting violent, _others_ getting violent anymore. He could live life genuinely with the knowledge others were being just as genuine with him. 

He looked up at Miss Velvet and for the first time, he realized that her eyes were green. They were green and there wasn’t one lie that he could detect in them, she was telling the truth. He was laughing before he knew it, and his laughter triggered her laughter as she told him that she had a failsafe where he would’ve been her _friend’s_ servant if it hadn’t worked. That if she fell in love with him at _all_ they would transfer. What a relief! He didn’t have to walk on eggshells, he could serve her freely! He could fulfill his duty as a knight without having to worry about how he was affecting her emotional state. They could genuinely support each other with no ulterior motives! He watched as she called her friend and he could hear him yelling at her through the phone. She gave him an apologetic smile. He grinned back.

Maybe this had the chance of being something good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diarmuid POV! I might experiment with writing other chapters from the perspectives of different characters, but don't have any current plans to do so (besides snippets here and there). Building relationships before we start with the bulk of things, and there's going to be several chapters before we get to Lancelot (sorry!). Comments are appreciated, thank you!
> 
> Edit: Minor spelling/grammar changes


	5. Coming Out and Going Out

There was a hot guy in his living room. There were, literally so many other things that Rika should be focusing on right now but his stupid ass monkey brain couldn’t stop coming back to the fact that there was, the _hottest_ guy Rika has ever meet, just sitting on his couch right now. Amilia had implied that once she summoned Diarmuid she was going to go straight to traveling in order to find her father, but he had come across some very disturbing news while she was away and he wasn’t comfortable talking about it over the phone. She had really scared him, going almost ten hours without contacting him, he thought she _died_. Nope, turns out she was just gallivanting with her new servant, buying him clothes and whatnot.

Which brought them back to his current problem. They agreed that they’d meet back up at his place, fine in theory, and when the doorbell rang he excitedly ran over to open the door. He may have said he wasn’t going to participate in the Grail War, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t interested in seeing a servant. He opened the door… and found the most beautiful man that he ever set his eyes on. He was tall, easily having several centimeters on Rika, black hair, and the most gorgeous pair of brown eyes he’s ever seen on someone.

“Rika Jewel! Meet Diarmuid Ua Duibhne,” Amilia happily introduced them, gesturing to Diarmuid, who _bowed_ and said it was a _pleasure to meet him._ His heart raced at the speed of light.

“Th-the pleasure is all m-mine,” he stammered back, feeling his cheeks heating up. Diarmuid had smiled at him, and he saw literal stars.

And now that man is in his house. He had heard Amilia talk a little bit about Diarmuid and his legend and whatnot, and context clues seemed to imply that he certainly wasn’t ugly, but _goddamn_. They walked in and Amilia said she would help Rika prepare a dinner for them, seeing as it was late in the evening. Diarmuid offered to help, but Amilia had shushed him and said he’d be doing his fair share soon enough, and to just relax. Hesitantly, Diarmuid sat down on the sofa, feeling the thread of the couch like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. The two of them entered the kitchen and started cooking. Rika didn’t even register that he was a servant, now thinking back on it he vaguely remembered he seemed like a Lancer, which was good because that’s what Amilia wanted.

“Something simple I’m thinking… maybe spaghetti?” Amilia was talking.

“Yes! Spaghetti is fine. I think we have everything for it,” he mumbled and started rummaging around his pantries for the noodles and spaghetti sauce.

“Do you have beer?” Amilia asked, peering into his fridge. He turned to her.

“Since when do you drink beer? You still got a year left before you're legal, you know.”

“I know, it’s for Diarmuid. He seems to like beer.”

That tracks actually, he seems like the type to enjoy a good pint. “My parents have an alcohol fridge downstairs that they don’t know I know about. Please just take one or two, I don’t want to be yelled at,” Rika sighed.

“Thank you!” Amilia said, already down the stairs that were off from the kitchen. He brought some meat out that was thawed, and put some spices on it before setting it to simmer in their cast iron pan. Amilia came back up with a bottle of beer and breezed by him, and he immediately followed after her. He watched as she went out to the living room, and after opening it with a bottle opener handed it to Diarmuid.

“Thank you, Miss Velvet,” he said before taking a swig. She promptly returned to the kitchen, but Rika couldn’t tear his eyes away from him until he concluded he was enjoying the drink. He walked back into the kitchen to find Amilia cutting mushrooms. He got out a big pot and started to fill it up with water, trying to fight down his heart that seemed to want to beat out of his chest.

“So… you. Like you got rid of the curse right?” he asked while watching the water rise in the pot. Amilia looked up from her cutting.

“Yeah, he wouldn’t still be my servant otherwise,” she said in a tone that suggested it should've been obvious.

He shut the water off and brought the now full pot to the stove to start boiling. “And there’s… definitely no way that it could’ve been reversed?”

“Reversed how?” she asked, the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board ceasing momentarily.

He lit the flame, and peered into it like that’s going to make the water boil faster, “It’s… a counter curse right? Is there a chance that the _subject_ of the curse was changed somehow? From women to… men?” He looked at her almost in desperation. She finally stopped cutting vegetables and walked over to him.

“Why, are you okay?” She put a hand on his shoulder.

“Amilia, he’s _so pretty,_ ” he whispered, afraid Diarmuid would hear him, “I almost feel like crying when I look at him, and I want to hold his hand and tell him he’s _okay_. And to cherish him because he deserves it. That’s… gotta be magic right?” Amilia, bless her, actually took him seriously for a few moments, stopping at the frame of the door and a surge of magic came from her so he knew she was at least checking. She turned and did the same to him, then leaned back against the door frame.

Then she started laughing.

“Rika, _no_ it’s gone. I checked.” She put a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

“But wait, Amilia. I’m _straight_.” He pointed to himself as if it wasn’t clear that it was him they were referring to. Amilia slid down to the floor, head in her hands, silently shaking in laughter. “Straight as a board! As an arrow! As...I mean. Girls are-and I-I would definitely _know_ if…” 

Suddenly, several different things clicked into place into Rika’s brain and he stumbled backward until he hit his kitchen counter. Amilia looked up at him from the floor. “But...wait…” his mind was still reeling, he looked down at his hands as if they would have the answers somehow. Amilia stopped laughing but she looked like she was about to start again any moment now. “Amilia. I do _like_ girls! You’ve seen me, I’ve had crushes! Those have felt pretty real.” He half talked to her, half mumbled to himself but she seemed to get the full picture.

“Rika, it sounds like your bisexual,” she said in the most supporting tone she could muster through her amusement. All the other pieces fell into place. He held his head in his hands.

“Oh my god. I’m bisexual,” he realized.

Once Rika was done having his epiphany/existential crisis they finished up cooking then called Diarmuid into the kitchen for his portion. 

“Thank you very much, Miss Velvet, Mr. Jewel. I appreciate the effort you’ve gone through for me,” he said before starting to eat, and Rika seemed like he was damn near starstruck. Amilia smiled before going to retrieve another beer for him. Diarmuid tried to thank her again but his mouth was full of food so he just nodded again, covering his mouth. They ate quickly and in silence for a bit, all hungry for one reason or another until three empty bowls sat on the table. Amilia kept waiting for Rika to start in on why he called them back here, but he just kept staring at Diarmuid. He didn’t seem to notice for some reason, finishing up his beer and then asking where they stored the bottles. Rika jumped up and took them (there were four by this point) and scurried off down into the basement. 

“So what was that thing you wanted to tell us?” Amilia asked when he got back. Rika finally snapped away from his trance and went “Oh!” before running into the living room. Amilia and Diarmuid trailed behind him.

“I wonder if they’re still covering it,” he said and switched the T.V on. Amilia sat in the side chair and Diarmuid went back to the spot he was sitting before, on the opposite end of Rika. The channel was on a news station, and there was a brown-haired man talking into a microphone.

“It is unclear what the motivations of this mysterious person are, or why they’ve chosen to commit their crimes in such a way, but it is clear that they need to be stopped, and local authorities are doing all that they can to put this person behind bars.”

They then played footage of what seemed like a city street, the title card below read Edinburgh, England. The streets were filled with smoke, and people were running in opposite directions, whoever was filming was not on steady feet, because the camera shook a bit as it whipped this way and that, trying to get a good shot. Suddenly, through the smoke, an outline of a person appeared. The man talked over the footage, “All attempts to reason with them have been proven futile, their only responses are screams of rage, there are some suspicions that heavy drugs are involved, as there are displays of almost superhuman strength.”

Amilia stood up and walked closer to the television set as the on-street audio kicked in. It was discombobulated for this most part, people screaming and cars blaring. However, the outline of the person got clearer and clearer as they walked through the smoke. Amilia tried to get a close look at them but found that she couldn’t. There was smoke settled around them, but not like the smoke that filled the streets, it was heavier, almost black, and she found she could not see through it. She suspected that he was wearing _armor_ of some kind, though she couldn’t tell exactly. She watched as the figure turned to pick up a _car_ (her jaw dropped to the floor) and hurl it in the direction of the camera, and that’s where the footage cut off. 

The man reappeared again, a number this time flashing in the title card below him, “If anyone has any information about this individual, _please_ call the number below.”

Rika turned off the television, “So that’s...definitely a servant, right?” he asked the room, only to be met with silence for a few moments. Diarmuid had shifted to propping his arms onto his legs, leaning his full weight on them and clasping them in front of himself, head bowed slightly.

“Yes, and I’ve met this Mad Warrior before,” he said. Rika did a double-take at that, almost asking what he meant but Amilia cut him off.

“From your previous Grail War?” she turned to him. 

He nodded.

“Hmm, I wonder what _class_ this servant could _possibly_ fall under!” Amilia tapped her chin.

Diarmuid grinned at her, “Truly a puzzling prospect.”

“I’m confused,” Rika informed them.

“That’s a Berserker,” Amilia explained. “Homicidal rage and little to no sane brain cells to go with it.”

“I would not underestimate him based on that criteria, Miss Velvet, despite being mad he’s proven to be exceptionally clever.”

“No, it wouldn’t be that easy, would it.” Amilia scratched her head. She clapped her hands together. “Alright! Here’s the plan, the fact he’s in a city? Bad. We need to lure him away from people before we can take him out. Trip to Edinburgh everyone!”

“Me?” Rika asked, pointing to himself.

“Even though you're not going to be a Master, I still want someone to act as an informant of sorts, surveying the area and getting back to me.” Amilia said to him, “Is that okay?”

“Yes, that’s fine.” Rika paused for a few moments, then nodded again. “Yes, yeah, totally fine. I can do that.”

“Thank you. Diarmuid?” He hummed in acknowledgment, “How confident are you in your ability to take him on?”

“Extremely,” he said with conviction, “My lances can take down that Mad Warrior in a heartbeat. The only reason I was not able to in the previous war was because of other factors getting in the way. My spears will not fail you, Master.”

“Perfect. We clear this guy out then go on our way.”

And that’s how they found themselves on the edge of Edinburgh, they couldn’t see any noticeable signs of damage, but that must mean that the Berserker was further in. Rika had set up in a small hotel just on the city's edge, using “All-Seer,” to watch them, and “Remote Link,” to communicate with Amilia. 

“Amilia. I’m detecting two other servant signatures, also further in. And I’m tracing two mana signatures that must be their master’s.” Rika buzzed in her ear.

“Any sign of the master for the Berserker?” she asked.

“None. Not where he is, nor in the vicinity. If they're in Edinburgh they must be further away, or communicating with their servant remotely.”

Her and Diarmuid started walking further in, Diarmuid a few paces ahead of her. He had materialized out of his casual clothes a little bit ago, and was back in the outfit he was in when he was summoned. He also brandished his spears for the first time since Amilia summoned him. One was a long red spear, Gae Derg, and the other a shorter yellow one, Gae Buidhe. They were wrapped in purple cloth that sealed their abilities, for the time being, no need to show their ace card quite yet. She questioned how one could be effective duel wielding such long cumbersome weapons, but figured that Diarmuid wouldn’t have been summoned into the Lancer class if he hadn’t brandished some skill with them. Despite her apprehension about the situation, she found herself getting excited over the prospect of seeing him fight, but also nervous that he might be injured. _It’s going to start soon,_ she thought. Her steps quickened.

“Master,” Diarmuid called back slightly. 

“Yes?” she responded.

“When researching the Grail War and being a Master, were strategies in battle ever a part of your studies?”

She thought for a moment. “Yes, well not _during_ researching the Grail War, but my Dad taught me greek battle strategies when I was younger.” Her dad was absolutely _obsessed_ with Greek stuff, and while she never got to his fascination with it, she did come to have an appreciation for it. She attributes it fondly to bonding with her father, and that’s all it really needed to be.

“I see,” he said, turning back.

“Why?”

“Nothing, I was merely curious,” he said cryptically. She raised an eyebrow but kept walking. The streets were mostly abandoned, no doubt trying to evacuate from the madman who was roaming them. To be in such a big, old city completely devoid of people was eerie, and Amilia heard both her and Diarmuid’s footsteps with haunting clarity. Though she did note that Diarmuid’s were significantly quieter than hers were. She attempted to compensate, watching how he placed his feet and trying to copy him. She was so focused on walking the way he walked that she didn’t even notice when he stopped completely, and she ran into him.

“Oof. Sorry-” she started to say but was cut off when Diarmuid whipped around and wrapped an arm around her waist, bringing them quickly against a building. Creeping forward, he walked to the corner of the building and peered around it. 

“Do you see them?” she whispered. He didn’t turn around, but she saw him nod.

“Rika, what’s our status?” 

“A Servant. A Saber from the looks of it.”

She relayed this information to Diarmuid.

“Where will you be surveying the encounter?” he asked, still peering around the corner.

“From...behind you?” she said, not sure what the answer should be. He turned around to look at her.

“Right behind me? You're going to stand right behind me?”

“Yes?” It really felt like he was expecting more, but she just didn’t know what to give.

“I suppose that’s one strategy,” he said, going back to the corner.

“Well what would _you_ have me do?” she asked, incredulous at the tone he decided to take.

“It matters not what I would have you do. You’re the Master,” he stated simply. She could not believe they were about to have their first argument thirty seconds before their first battle.

“If you think there’s a better way to go about this Di--” she clamped her hand over her mouth when she remembered she shouldn’t be using actual names right now, “--Lancer, then _please_ tell me.”

He huffed like _he_ was getting annoyed, the bastard. “Not better or worse, it is at your discretion how this battle progresses.”

“Yeah, but it’s _you_ fighting the damn thing.” She almost stomped on the ground, she already felt ridiculous, it felt like Diarmuid was placating her like a child. Well, to him she guessed she was but _still._ “If going about it differently will make you feel safer then of _course_ I’ll do it, Lancer.”

He turned to look at her again, expression unreadable, he met her gaze for only a second, but then flickered his eyes to the ground, “Miss Velvet, I merely assumed you would take a vantage point on one of the buildings. Both to survey the battlefield and to stay out of reach of certain attacks. Some servants pack a powerful punch, and it’s not likely you would survive such attacks. If I have to focus on defending you that takes away from what I can do to the enemy. However, you being closer would mean you would be able to heal me quicker. The decision is up to you.”

She sighed heavily before teleporting to the top of the building across from where Diarmuid was at. From where she stood now she looked directly at Diarmuid. “ _Distance_ means nothing to me when it comes to healing,” she talked to him using “Remote Link” 

“Do what you must, Lancer.” She concluded, watching him nod and step around the corner.

It was then she turned her attention to the Saber as Diarmuid slowly approached him. He wore what almost seemed like a halter top, collar high around his neck before tucking into a thick band of metal wrapped around his stomach. Ankle-high boots, and gloves that reached his elbows with gold guards to match, this dude dressed on _point_. 

Amilia was so distracted by what he was wearing that she almost forgot to check his stats and his weapon. The latter of which seemed pretty straight forward, it was a sword, and it matched the rest of his color scheme (she really didn’t know how to think about swords, yes they were cool but the specifics on how they were cool were lost on her. Sword shiny? Sword do a stab? A+ in her book). The former was _phenomenal._ This was definitely going to be a formidable opponent. Amilia bit her lip worriedly. She wanted to be able to support him with more than healing but wasn’t sure if she could manage it. What physical weapons did she have again? She patted herself to check and brought out her dagger. She stared at it for a few moments. 

This was her only remnant from her past life, what Dad says she clutched when he found her. Against a normal human she could probably do damage, but she doubted against a servant it would do anything. She gave Diarmuid a burst of magic just in case, then went to the building corner to watch. She hooked up what she was hearing with Diarmuid with a spell, and had a moment of dissonance as she heard sounds that weren’t by her.

“Does the damage of the Berserker call you here as well?” Diarmuid called out when he was in range. She had talked to him about not going in guns (metaphorically) blazing, but to gauge whether the servant was going to be a general threat to the public. If they weren’t, they’d leave _them_ alone if they left _them_ alone. Diarmuid told her the chances of that were low, and unfortunately, she agreed.

“More so the type of company the Berserker would provide.” The Saber spoke. He had a slightly higher localization about him, one that spoke of prestige and arrogance. However, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “My master assumed that since the Berserker was making no attempts to hide he would seem like easy prey and attract vultures. Seems they were right.” Combining the way he spoke with his long orange hair that looks smooth from even where she was standing, it wouldn’t be that far off to guess he had a royal background.

“You seem to have a wise Master.” Diarmuid complimented. Saber gave a short laugh.

“They have their moments. However, any fight with _any_ Berserker would prove more unconventional than normal.” That piqued Amilia’s interest.

“Why’s that?” Diarmuid echoed her thoughts.

Amilia couldn’t see Saber’s expression from this distance. She condensed her magic before she teleported to the next building so as to not alert anyone in the area. Saber’s amused voice more than filled in though. 

“Oh? Did you not hear? Are you so inept you don’t even know the changes to the war?” He put his hands on his hips, just above where the cape he was wearing billowed out from his waist.

“I was only recently summoned, and still have the muscle memory from the previous Grail War I was in.” Diarmuid retorted cooly, “So forgive me if I’m a little slow on the uptake.”

That gave Saber pause, “You have experience fighting other Servants then.” he stated, shifting his stance subtly. _Oh so now you take him as a threat?_ Amilia thought bitterly. He continued, “There are many Berserkers who had been reported to be awake, roaming about, but having no Master to act as their reins. Master suspects it is their madness that drives them to awaken early.”

“That _is_ unconventional,” Diarmuid responded, and Amilia couldn’t help but snark at that. “Perhaps it would be in our best interest to team up and take him out to ensure he doesn’t harm the general public.”

Saber brandished his sword, “I am capable of taking out that beast without your help.” he said coldly. Whelp, there goes the _peaceful_ route. Diarmuid went into a fighting stance as well.

“I assume that means you won’t let me out alive.”

“You're quick on the upkeep then,” Saber barked. “I trust that won’t be a problem?”

“As long as this ends with my spears through your gut, then no.” _Damn Diarmuid_ Amilia thought _Fucking savage!_ Her eyes were glued to the battlefield as if this were a thriller movie and _not_ two people about to duel to the death. “I am once again lamenting the fact we cannot speak of our names to the other. It takes away what glory can be earned in our skirmish.” The two servants started to circle each other, each trying to find an opening in which to strike.

“Believe me I agree,” Saber said, “However, let us duel with what little honor is pertained to us, then, and hope the Grail gives us the knowledge of the one who brought our demise. Excuse me, let the Grail tell _you_ my name once you’re dead.”

Diarmuid ignored the jab, “It brings me joy to hear my first opponent in this Grail War say that. You might want to watch that silver tongue, however, before it becomes lodged in your _throat.”_ Diarmuid lunged at the last word, red spear reaching Saber first, and making a scraping sound as he brought his sword up to deflect it as he sidestepped out of the way. Diarmuid quickly turned and attempted to jab him with the short one, but Saber jumped up at the last second, landing delicately out of the spear's reach, then twisted around to bring a foot down on Diarmuid’s back. However, he tucked and rolled out of the way, so Saber ended up bringing his food down hard on the pavement. To Amilia’s amazement, the sound of stone cracking could be heard, and the spot where Diarmuid was had a small impact crater cracking out from Saber’s foot.

 _Shit, is that what a Servant is capable of? That would’ve shattered a grown man’s spine!_ She thought with amazement. Diarmuid launched himself from his prone position back onto his feet, then retaliated with a kick of his own, managing to hit Saber square in the chest and sent him flying back fifty meters. _You got some tricks of your own_ Amilia thought, impressed. Saber quickly recovered, however, and seemed to remember that he had a sword, and launched himself back into battle with a swing to Diarmuid’s head, who in turn gave a fancy twisting motion with his red spear, tucking his back into his opponent’s chest and trapping Saber’s sword hand between his weapons, and twisting until he dropped it. Without missing a beat, Saber swept Diarmuid’s legs out from underneath him and would’ve sent him to the ground again if he hadn’t used his spears as braces on the ground, twisting himself and spun in the air, landing away from Saber.

To her bewilderment, instead of charging directly back at Saber and ending it right there, Diarmuid waited until he picked his weapon back up again before charging once more. 

_What was the point in doing that move then?_ She thought. They stepped three paces away again then launched themselves back at each other. The clashing of metal could be heard even where she was standing, and each beat was like a building monument to her frustration. 

This was taking too long.

Diarmuid shifted the grip of the red spear and did this thing where he rested it on his shoulder and spun it around, hooking it with his other arm and bringing it down. Saber wasn’t expecting that, and as such Diarmuid drew the first blood, a quick cut down the servants forearm. Saber quickly retaliated, however, thrusting his sword forward and stabbing Diarmuid in the thigh. Almost before the blade had left Diarmuid’s leg she had already healed it. Saber gripped his injured hand for a bit before it too was healed, no doubt from his Master, wherever they were hiding. Saber rushed forward with a brutal offensive, striking blow after blow in Diarmuid’s direction, forcing him into the defensive. He was only able to land another blow by surging forward and getting in close with his yellow spear, slashing down. Saber gripped the offending weapon and hit Diarmuid in the face with the hilt of his sword. Diarmuid responded in kind with the red spear into Saber’s knee. She healed Diarmuid’s bloody nose but then had to heal a cut on his arm right after. He was getting injured faster than she could heal him. Eventually, she had to ignore many small wounds to focus on healing the bigger ones. This was bad. She should probably order him to use his noble phantasm soon.

“Amilia!” At the sound of her name, she swore her skeleton tried to book it from her flesh.

“Rika, _do not_ shout like that!” she angrily whispered.

“You’ve got another servant incoming! A Lancer too this time, stats are not the same as Saber’s but still good!”

“Lancer, be aware of another Lancer.” She related to Diarmuid. The information was acknowledged with a slight tilt to his head. Saber went running at him again, but defected at the last second, parrying an unknown attack from the side, and turning to face a new threat, taking a couple of steps back.

“YOU RUN FROM ME BOY?!” A voice emerged from an alleyway, followed by a man emerging from the alleyway.

_Well, that’s... certainly a choice._

This guy’s Roman. He couldn’t be anything _other_ Roman, right? The Lancer had on a red-plumed helmet and nothing else. Scratch that, he was wearing a cape. And a loincloth. God she really hoped that was a loincloth. He bore a shield in one hand and a spear in the other. Basically, if a middle schooler with exceptionally good art skills was told to make a Roman, it would be this guy. _Is stereotyping for me to assume that?_ Amilia wondered.

She was broken from her train of thought when Saber made a ‘tch’ sound and rolled his eyes at him.

“You don’t run from mild annoyances,” he said. 

Diarmuid didn’t do it loud enough for Saber to hear, but under his breath, he quietly went “Oooo!” which Amilia thought was funny.

“BOY, I WILL PUMMEL YOU INTO THE GROUND.” Lancer took an intimidating step forward, well it should’ve been intimidating but Saber didn’t seem to get the memo. He motioned him away with his hands.

“Would you mind going away? I’m sort of in the middle of something.”

“NO. YOU WILL FIGHT ME HERE AND NOW.” 

“I am not going to fight you at all, you are not worth my time. You threw your best at me and it still wasn’t enough. No more.” At that, Lancer went to charge at Saber, only to have his spear knocked away by Diarmuid. Saber looked at him surprised, and Amilia bit her knuckle and screamed in frustration. Diarmuid pointed his spear at the offending Lancer.

“Fellow Lancer!” Diarmuid addressed him, “You interrupt a fight that is already in progress, only to pull one of the participants away? Shame! You will fight me as I stand as the victor, for this Saber shall fall on my blade!”

 _That was our ticket Diarmuid!_ She screamed at him in her head. 

“THAT MAN RAN FROM ME AS A COWARD. I SHALL QUELL HIM FIRST AND THEN DEAL WITH YOU.” Lancer responded.

Amilia brought her hand up to her chest, breathing in, and extended it out again as she exhaled. Only then did she begin to address Diarmuid.

“Lancer, Saber’s not going to be an easy fight and this guy is basically offering to help us for free. I think the best course of action would be to help him kill Saber, then take care of him if necessary.” 

She couldn’t see his face at this angle but could see him bristling from a mile away. Something on Diarmuid’s face made Saber’s expression change, and he started scanning the top of the buildings almost out of annoyance.

“I disagree. I can fight the Lancer and then finish my fight with Saber.”

“Lancer, you’re already tired, you cannot be expected to finish another servant, then resume your fight and expect to win! We’re being given a chance here, take it!”

“Master.” Lancer started, “I can quell each of these servants in turn. There is no need for such tactics!”

Amilia literally stomped on the ground this time. Wasn’t he all about smart strategies? Isn’t this smart? Then why was he fighting her about it!

“Lancer, I want to make sure you get out of this _alive_ , I think this is the best option!” She let her frustration through her voice, she couldn’t help it at this point. Diarmuid’s shoulders scrunched around his neck, and she could see that he was shaking.

“Master. I assure you I will make it out alive.”

“Diar--”

“Master, _please!_ ” he said the last statement so loudly she didn’t need the magic link to hear him. It was then that she really forced herself to take a step back and look at the situation.

Lancer, despite his yelling, seemed to be waiting to see if Diarmuid would actually help him kill his adversary. Saber’s face was shifting between an odd mix of anger and pity, and Diarmuid’s spears were buried into the ground, they shook where his hands met to grip it. This is how he wanted it to go, for some unknown reason, and she _did_ say it would be up to him how he conducted his battles. She pinched the bridge of her nose hard, and took one more breath.

“Okay, okay! Fine! This is how it's going to go. You're going to defeat Lancer. Then you’re going to _retreat,_ okay? And if Saber starts attacking you while you're finishing him off then you retreat then too. You are to recover from the fight, then seek out Saber again if it’s convenient. Okay? Can we do that?”

She bit her lip as she waited for his reply. While she was talking, he went from his almost hunched position back to standing straight up again. Saber braced his weapon, expecting to be attacked.

Then, she saw the barest hint of a nod come from Diarmuid, and she released the breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“Saber,” Diarmuid spoke.

“Yes?”

“It seems my master is… concerned about me biting off more than I can chew. After I bring down our loud friend here, I have been ordered to retreat. I am afraid we’ll have to continue our battle another time.”

Saber relaxed his fighting stance, “Your master is wise it seems.”

Diarmuid turned, and finally, Amilia could see the side of his face. He was smiling. “She has her moments.”

Saber gave out a laugh, “Very well then. Until later, Lancer.” 

Then his form dissolved like dust. Amilia was surprised he didn’t take up his advantage after Diarmuid admitted he wouldn’t be attacking him. Better for the two of them, she supposed.

“YOU HAVE CROSSED ME FOR THE LAST TIME, FOOL,” Lancer was shouting again.

“Lancer, use your noble phantasm,” she ordered him.

“Understood,” Diarmuid replied, and the purple fabric that wrapped his spears burned up like ash. Wielding his revealed weapons, the colors on each shone brightly.

“Fellow Lancer, you have cost me to have what should've been an honorable duel to once again be cut short. I will not forgive you for this. I will assure you that your death will be quick. Have at you!” Diarmuid shouted before once again launching himself into battle. Lancer brought his shield up, but Diarmuid quickly sidestepped it and gave a glancing blow to Lancer’s leg. Lancer swung the shield around again, blocking his torso and lowering his frame, sticking his spear out.

Admittedly, Amilia was still nervous, she could sense Diarmuid was getting tired, though she found the odds better with this guy than with Saber. However, if he had some sort of noble phantasm up his sleeve this could get ugly… 

Diarmuid ducked underneath Lancer’s shield again and cut him again with his red spear, then in quick motion brought the short spear down onto his shoulder. Lancer dropped his shield, arm going limp as the tendon was severed.

Amilia literally did a jump spin. Yes! A wound that won’t heal, he’s incapacitated! Then remembered she was supposed to be covert and dropped down, hiding behind the edge of the building. She peeked her head out.

Lancer brandished his spear and resumed an attack position. Damnit!

“Had it not been for that little brat wiping out my army I would’ve shown you the true might of Sparta,” Lancer said, somehow the fact that he wasn’t yelling made his words all the more sinister, an involuntary shudder ran down Amilia's spine. Diarmuid didn’t have a witty retort for that, his heavy breathing could be seen even where she was standing. He started forward again but quickly had to duck as Lancer threw his spear at him. He dodged that easily, however couldn’t dodge the shield he decided to throw after it. It hit Diarmuid square on and knocked him off his feet, rolling for a few meters. It took him a few moments to get up. She gave him a surge of magic, but she could tell it wasn’t doing much. Diarmuid abandoned the yellow spear on the ground and brandished only the red spear. Lancer charged forward and attempted to kick Diarmuid, to which he responded by twisting around and rolling out of the way. However, that’s what Lancer wanted him to do, because he made a break for his weapon again, and Diarmuid couldn’t reach him in time to stop him. Arm limp, he held his spear in one hand and ran at Diarmuid again. This time, Diarmuid waited, poised until the last second where he turned like a bullfighter, making Lancer run past him. In a last surge of energy, Diarmuid took aim with his spear and launched it at Lancer’s heart. It made its mark true, and Lancer was now barely standing, a limp arm, and a spear protruding from his chest. Diarmuid fell to his knees, the wind finally being knocked out of him.

However, Lancer was not done. Despite his injuries he stalked towards Diarmuid’s form, he tried to get up again but his legs gave out from underneath him.

_Shit_ Amilia put her foot on the edge of the roof, not sure what she was doing, but knowing something needed to be done. Her hand went subconsciously to her dagger, and she fired herself at the Lancer, or threw herself over Diarmuid, she didn’t really know which. She closed her eyes.

And opened them at the sound of metal striking metal. She was standing over Diarmuid’s form, looking up at the Lancer who seemed a _lot_ taller now that she was up close. His form trembled with exertion, as did hers as the blade of his spear was blocked by her… sword? Since when was she holding a sword? She looked at her new blade. It looked almost exactly like her dagger, except it was elongated now, and the blade was glowing slightly. A gold sort of magic shimmered around her when her magic usually had a green tint to it. Not letting herself overthink this, she surged all her available magic into throwing the Lancer off of her, which only succeeded in throwing his spear temporarily, then ran forward blindly and shoved the blade into his stomach. She let go of the hilt and stumbled backward, tripping over Diarmuid and falling down. Lancer’s form started to disintegrate upwards as he gave out his final breath, he fell but no body hit the ground, he was long gone. Both Diarmuid’s spear and her sword, now shrunk back down to dagger size, hit the ground with a clatter. 

Registering that he was gone, they won, Amilia rested her head on Diarmuid’s shoulder. She brought her hands up around his body and held them there, feeling his heartbeat and listening to him breathing to make sure he was still alive. She felt her breathing slow in time to his, and she closed her eyes, only for a second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first combat of the story! Let me know what you think about it. My current plan is to implement waxes and wanes when it comes to combat, so the next few chapters will by heavy with combat and the next few will have less (though this is subject to change). Can you guess all the servants? I'm trying to write a couple of chapters ahead so I don't run out of content to post if I'm on hiatus, but the current one I'm on feels like it's going to be longer, so enjoy! Thank you for reading once again!


	6. Communicate! Communicate! Communicate!

Three more seconds. Amilia was going to give herself three more seconds and then she had to get up. Diarmuid wasn’t moving and she suspected that he was unconscious. They were too exposed here. She took a deep breath. One. Two. Three. She forced herself up, picking Diarmuid up and draping him over her shoulder, he didn’t move or put up a fight.

“Rika! We’re headed in your direction. Did you prepare the thing I told you to prepare?”

“Yes! It arrived from your house a little bit ago. I bought a kiddie pool and set it up in the room, head on down.”

She processed what he just said, “You bought… never mind, just head down to the lobby I’m going to need help with him.”

“Right, on my way.”

They made the slow trek through the streets, Diarmuid only barely supporting his own weight, almost entirely relying on her. He tried to mumble something a couple of times but she had quieted him.

“Save your strength, you're going to be alright,” she reassured.

They somehow made it to the hotel alright, and she practically collapsed in the lobby. She looked around and found the place unsurprisingly barren of people. She was shocked the hotel was still open even, with everything going on. Then a door behind the receptionist's desk opened, and before Amilia could react, a short man with blonde hair emerged brandishing a firearm.

“Woah, Woah--” she started to say, but then felt movement as Diarmuid hooked underneath her arm and rolled on top of her, protecting her from the attack.

“STATE YOUR NAME AND IDENTITY,” the man shouted.

“I--I--” she tried to talk from underneath a whole person on top of her.

“Sir they’re with me!” Rika thankfully chose that moment to run into the lobby, looking frantically between everyone. The man looked at Rika, then back at the two on the floor, and immediately dropped the gun and sank back into his receptionist chair. He looked up at Rika, eyes tearing up.

“I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

“Bro… just close the hotel,” Rika said to him.

“My bosses said they wouldn’t give me my paycheck for this week if I closed today.” The man held his head in his hands.

“Hey, look,” Rika took a peek at his nametag, “Brian, that’s super illegal. You need to find another job man.”

Brian processed that for a moment before nodding, “Yeah… Yeah I really do, don’t I?” He got up, grabbing a set of keys and made his way to the door, but then stopped.

“If…” and his voice started to crack, “If I don’t get paid this week they might evict me, I’m behind enough as it is. I have a kid I need to feed.” His hand trembled as he looked between the keys and the door. While this was going on Amilia struggled to her feet, and Rika stepped in to help support Diarmuid. 

“Brian. Don’t even worry about that.” She told him, trying to ignore how her whole body was screaming at her. He looked at her. “What’s your full name?”

“Brian… Marshall,” he said reluctantly. Amilia got out a pen and paper and quickly scribbled down a number and then handed it to him.

“Okay, Brian Marshall. Contact these people and tell them Amilia Velvet sent you, they’ll help you out with work and even a new place to stay if necessary. But for now…” Amilia hastily scribbled out a check, “I am paying you this amount to lock those doors right now and to not let anyone else in.” 

Brian took the check and gawked at the amount on it, “Are… are you sure?”

Amilia was already walking away with Rika at this point, both with one arm underneath Diarmuid, inching their way towards the elevators. “Absolutely certain, and don’t you even think about paying me back!” she called after him. As they entered the elevator she turned around and gave a wide grin at his jaw-slacked face. “Good luck, Brian Marshall!”

Once in the elevator, all the fatigue hit her like a truck, and she felt herself relying on Rika for support too. The lad was doing great at holding them both up though. Light elevator music played, furthering the emotional whiplash she was getting.

“Rika… thank you,” she said, closing her eyes.

“Huh? Oh, you're welcome. But I didn’t really do anything though.” he laughed, which jostled Diarmuid who let out a groan, “Sorry.”

“I know, but you being here really helps. I’m thankful.”

“Yeah of course,” he mumbled. The elevator dinged and they exited.

When they got to the room she found out that Rika was being literal. Both beds were pushed against the walls of the room, and a kiddie pool had been set up in between them. Gold opaque water shone brightly, giving the room a third light source and throwing the shadows in weird directions. They dragged Diarmuid to it and unceremoniously dumped him into the pool. Amilia crawled in after him and set up so he was comfortable, head resting on the edge of the pool. Uninhibited by the water soaking her clothes, she ran her hands over the top of the water in practiced motions, giving more magic into the water, increasing the already bright pool. Rika had hopped onto one of the beds and was watching her.

“I still think you have one of the prettiest origins,” he said, eyes fixated on the water.

“Thank you… Hey, would you mind getting me a cup?”

“Sure thing,” and he went to retrieve it. Taking it from him, Amila scooped some of the water up and gently poured it over Diarmuid’s face. He frowned and shifted a bit at the sensation.

“You’re alright, you’re alright,” she soothed, pushing his hair back.

“Fionn,” he murmured and attempted to turn onto his side. Well, that was new.

“Not Fionn. Amilia,” she said, turning him back on his back. 

“-mimlia,” he mumbled and squirmed for a bit, but then his brow evened out and he seemed to fall back asleep.

“Fionn Mac Cumhaill?” Rika whispered.

“I’m assuming,” Amilia replied, “Unless there’s another Fionn you think Diarmuid would be muttering about in his sleep.”

“Haha, funny,” Rika said, even though it sounded like he did not find it funny. Amilia stared at Diarmuid’s sleeping form and was all of a sudden hit with the urge to start sobbing.

“Rika, Rika, literally everything went wrong just now,” she trembled, “I had no control of that whatsoever, he almost _died_ and I spent half of that time yelling at him. I-I don’t know where I went wrong, I thought we talked it over enough, but we got there and he started doing all these _things_ that inhibited his fight and--” She realized she was starting to hyperventilate, Rika crawled out of bed and stood her up from the pool, taking her into the bathroom to start drying her off. Her teeth clattered together even though she wasn’t really that cold.

“Hey-Hey, it’s okay,” he said reassuringly, rubbing her shoulders. She wrapped the towel a little tighter around herself. “He’s alive, you're alive, he’s healing now, you got him in time. Breath.” He took a deep breath in and Amilia found herself reflexively copying him. Taking a proper breath actually hurt her chest, and she realized how shallow her breathing had become. After the first, it started to even out, and she felt a little more in control of herself.

“Now, what exactly was he saying before?” 

“That he would win no matter what, that he could do it. That I could have faith in him.” Amilia recounted, she recalled the determination in his eyes as he said it to her.

“And you interpreted that as…?” As they talked Rika led her back over to one of the beds and sat her down, then got up to start brewing some tea.

“He would by any means necessary, I thought.”

“So like any tactics, no matter how underhanded?” Rika filled the kettle up with water.

“Yeah, like be as efficient as possible and wipe them out quickly.” Amilia didn’t really understand where Rika was going with this.

Rika brought the kettle over to the stove the room had and turned it on. The electric stovetop started to glow with a faint orange color.

“But you know,” he said after, “He _is_ a knight, maybe he meant win no matter what while operating under whatever code he follows.”

Amilia stared at Rika until he turned around, troubled by the fact she wasn’t talking. “He’s a _knight_ ,” she said when he did, “How could I have forgotten that? Am I a fucking idiot?”

“No,” Rika quickly started to say, cutting her off “Of course you're--”

Amilia stood up, “Of _course_ he would have some chivalry code he would follow while fighting, fucking hell everything makes sense now!” Amilia smacked her cheeks, “I should’ve added way more preparations, made sure that no one would disturb the fight, intentionally have mapped out a strategy that would’ve emphasized a proper duel, not just, ‘Hey go fight that fucker!’ This is all my fault!”

“Amilia I didn’t mean--” The two of them jumped when the kettle started to whistle. Rika went over immediately to turn it off. “I didn’t mean to place blame on you, I was just saying,” he finished.

“No! Thank you!” Amilia shouted almost like she was excited, “Now I know what to do, what to fix! Thank you for telling me!”

Rika looked at her a moment before laughing, “Right, right, I always forget you're like this when it comes to criticism.”

Amilia was muttering preparations to herself now, “I can make an Origin barrier to keep any unwanted servants out, prepare locations to challenge servants beforehand that would be good for dueling, and to survey any servant who approaches, keep some of my origin on hand in order to--”

“You guys seem really energetic,” Diarmuid’s tired voice piped up from his location in the kiddy pool.

“Diarmuid!” Amilia exclaimed, then rushed to crawl back into the pool. Diarmuid sat up when she approached, and she reached down to grab his hands. “Diarmuid! I’m so glad you’re awake. Look, I’m sorry I fucked up a little bit in that fight there but it's okay I know what I need to fix now. You can do it!”

“Do...what?” he asked, only half following her rant.

“Your ‘honorable dueling’ or whatever, I didn’t understand what you were doing before but I do now so it's okay!”

“Ah, I see,” he said. Amilia sat down fully in the pool again, negating whatever drying Rika tried to do. He only sighed and started to prepare three cups of tea for them.

“Listen, Diarmuid, I want to apologize,” she said more cohesively, “I should’ve been paying more attention to your needs. I’m not going to pretend that I understand all the aspects of being honorable or whatever, but I am going to try if it’s important to you. Please, be patient with me. I have a big learning curve.”

“I--” Diarmuid’s eyes shone, “Thank you Ms.Velvet, that means a lot to me.”

“And that also means--” Amilia continued, “ _Telling_ me what that code is. I can’t make guessing games with you all day, okay?”

He hesitated before answering this time, “I will try my best,” he said.

“Good!” she nodded to herself.

“On a different note,” he started, and Amilia tilted her head. Diarmuid cupped some of the water and raised it up, before letting it trickle through his fingers, “What is this I’m sitting in right now?”

“It’s my Origin!” she grinned, “Pretty neat huh? Its name is _Exoneration_ and it can heal almost any injury! It’s where my alignment for water comes from.”

“I see…How is it created?”

“Just from regular water, to which I then put my magic into. It’s… I can’t explain it because it’s my origin but it's almost like I’m gliding over the water itself and… not taking away what makes it ‘impure’ but… resolving the impurity if that makes sense? And then it can heal people. It’s stronger when I’m around but any amount of it can purify any other amount to an extent. It works best with freshwater.”

“Fitting,” Diarmuid responded, “That’s quite an origin.”

“Thank you!” Amilia said.

“She’s being humble about it, but it’s one of the most unique, if not the most powerful Origins possessed by a student in the Clock Tower,” Rika returned with their mugs of tea, handing one to each of them. The warm cup in her hand felt amazing. Diarmuid gently held his for a moment before taking a sip.

Then Diarmuid said, “It’s almost like an ability Fionn has, but on a larger scale.” This was the first time he had intentionally mentioned his name. Amilia and Rika looked at each other, they had to tread lightly.

“The ability to heal if someone drinks from the water poured by his hand?” Amilia said. Diarmuid smirked.

“You’ve been doing some reading,” he said, “Yes, that was the ability. The fact they both involve healing merely reminded me of it.” He looked off to the side, drinking from his mug, eyes… nostalgic? She thought she was reading that right. She didn’t know if it was appropriate to ask more questions about it.

“How are your injuries?” she asked instead. Diarmuid experimented by moving his leg.

“Fairing a lot better now, thank you,” he said.

“Good I--” Suddenly, Amilia’s stomach gave out a large rumble, followed quickly by hunger pains. “Sorry, I--I get hungry whenever I use a lot of magic.” She finished, holding her stomach.

“Would the hotel even have room service right now?” Rika asked, then answered his own question “I suppose we can go down to the kitchen and check.”

“Here, I can check.” Amilia went to get up.

“No, Amilia it's fine I can go--” But she was already out the door, stomach growling on her way out.

She wandered down the hall, each step reminding her of her overexertion in the battle today. She ran her hand along the wall as she walked, teal wallpaper with pineapples on it covered the lower half, and a creme color paint covered the top part. She brought out her dagger.

It sat the same as ever in the palm in her hand, it was of extraordinary good make, a shining blade with golden designs etched into it trailing down to meet it at a similarly gold guard and blue hilt. Just above where the guard meets the blade, a red jewel sat embedded into it. It wasn’t an ordinary weapon by any means, but in her entire life that she owned it, it never did anything special. Surely not turning into a big sword. She found the elevator and hit the button for descent. There was also the fact her magic changed colors. She couldn’t even begin to fathom what that meant. Maybe Dad could give her more insight, but he wasn’t here right now. She frowned as the elevator dinged open and she stepped inside. As the elevator ticked down floors she turned over the blade again and again, as if the answers will always perpetually be held on the other side of it. What was different this time?

The doors opened and she walked off, looking left and right trying to determine where to go. Left was the lobby, and if she remembered correctly from her haze when she first walked in, she thinks she recalled a cafeteria area just off of it. She headed down that way. The hotel was understandably deserted, devoid of even midnight staff roaming about.

Amilia was still contemplating her dagger’s new abilities when she rounded the last corner that would take her to a lobby, only to find the tip of a sword being held to her throat as an arm whipped out and pushed her up against a wall. The assailant's arm was now blocking her windpipe, her arms reflexively reaching up to grip it, as she had to cross her eyes to follow the tip of the blade. It was only then that she registered the face of her attacker.

“Saber!” she gasped.

“So you _are_ that green Lancer’s Master,” Saber growled, pushing a little farther into her throat, she fought back the urge to cough, gasping at the pressure, “Tell me, do you treat everyone around you like puppets, or is solely the ones you have directly on strings?”

“What… are…” she attempted to gasp. She started feeling light-headed and like she was going to pass out. Saber finally released her and she fell to the ground, she coughed and almost retched, feeling like there was something at the back of her throat she needed to get out. Saber stuck his blade underneath her chin.

“Don’t act coy. I cannot properly duel a man who lives under a dictatorship. His fighting becomes one of survival and not one of prowess. He is not a man, but a husk of an animal, eyes wide and ears flicked back, watching for the next predator's teeth.” Saber’s eyes sparked menacingly, and it took her several seconds to find her voice again.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she rasped. He reached down and pulled her up by her hair. She gripped his arm to alleviate the pressure.

“You do not know why your servant’s eyes reeked of terror? You do not know why his arms trembled as you addressed him, how he pleaded for his life? How even your voice caused him to jump like a mongoose? You have no idea why?” he growled two inches from her face. He was so close some spit hit her face, and she noticed a little deliriously his breath smelled like cinnamon.

Amilia started shivering, recalling how Diarmuid’s arms shook, “He was afraid? Of me?” she whispered. Something in Saber’s eyes shifted and he released her, finally taking his blade away from her throat.

“Tell me, Green Master, what was the conversation you had with him when the roman idiot arrived?”

Amilia rubbed at her throat when she talked, “I was saying that you were too powerful an opponent, and it would be more efficient to help the other Lancer kill you.” At any other point, she would’ve been more cautious about admitting her intent to kill someone, but trepidation tends to fly out the window once said person almost chokes you to death.

“And he didn’t agree with you,” he concluded.

“No… I didn’t realize it at the time but it wouldn’t have been an honorable duel if he did it like that, he wanted a fair fight.”

“Didn’t realize?” he said suspiciously.

“I… that went over my head somehow, but we talked it over. His next fights will emphasize fair, one on one battles.”

“And tell me, young master, did it ever occur to you to use a command seal to simply _make_ him do what you wanted?”

“ _What!?”_ Amilia stood up quickly, momentarily forgetting this person had the ability to snap her like a twig. “No! I would _never_ do anything like that!” 

Her words seemed to appease something to Saber, who put away his sword and turned to walk away, “Well, that answers that then. Then the next time we meet will be in righteous combat.” 

“Wait!” she said, but he had already disappeared. She thought him long gone but then a moment later he returned.

“What is it?” he asked, indignant.

“W-Why?” she asked. She had no idea why she was asking him, maybe because Diarmuid and he seemed to have a certain kinship with each other. Maybe she was just desperate. 

Saber sighed, “Those command seals take away what little control we have of ourselves. I saw that clear on his face as I felt it beat in my chest. You can only disobey your master so much before they get fed up with it and force you to their will. I didn’t want to fight someone under such fear.”

She guessed just as much, but to hear it from another Servant's mouth was terrifying and a little heartbreaking, “You spoke highly of your master though,” she pointed out.

“Well, yes,” he said, tilting his head “I do believe my master wouldn’t do something like that, but the fear is hard to unlearn,” he looked away from her, “But my current master was not the same person who established my contract in this world.”

“You changed masters?”

Saber nodded, “Master was an assistant to the old one, doing small errands for them and as such. I believe people in this era would call them a ‘secretary.’ My old master lied to me about how our Grail War would go. She told me that each fight would be approached with honor, but then she asked me to kill both a servant and their master, who turned out to be a small child. How such a creature came into possession of a Servant, I do not know, but it didn’t matter. I wouldn’t do it. She got angry and used a command seal to force me to.” Saber looked down at his hands, “To feel my hands moving, unsheathing my blade and raising it to strike a child, my being unable to stop it. It’s a horrific sort of feeling, one of helplessness.” He clenched his fists, “My master acted quickly, however, literally stabbing their old boss in the back and established a contract with me, then used another command seal to counteract the previous order.” He looked up at Amilia again, “I suppose that’s why I’m less afraid, I know where my Master’s morals lie, and a bit more pragmatically, I know they only have one use left before they lose their contract with me forever. It helps to fight off that fear.”

“How… how can I make him less afraid?” she asked him.

A small smile emerged on his face, “I don’t know the answer to that, besides always _not_ using it when you could. But the nature of that is you’ll be trying to prove yourself for the rest of your relationship.”

“Okay… thank you. I definitely don’t appreciate you trying to kill me, but I recognize that it came from a place of compassion for my servant.”

Saber had the dignity to look sheepish at that. “I… apologize. I think I jumped to some conclusions there. I’ll leave you be now.” He paused before disappearing again, “He… did mention that he had fought in a Grail War before, maybe his fear doesn’t necessarily come from you, but from a previous master. As it does for me.”

At that, he disappeared, his last words ringing like bells in her head. Why was it always other people pointing out the obvious to her before she realized it? She clenched her fists, whoever Diarmuid’s master was in the previous Grail War…

She’d like to run them through with her sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck Kayneth, all my homies hate Kayneth. 
> 
> New chapter! This was originally going to be one chapter, but it was a tad too long so I ended breaking it up a bit. We get a little insight into Amilia's abilities, fun! Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Also: The next chapter has Lancelot, I swear! Did not realize how long it would take to get to his intro but it's here!
> 
> Edit: Minor spelling


	7. We Won't Eat Our Words, They Don't Taste So Good

When she returned to their room, she walked in on Rika excitedly explaining the plot to ‘Pacific Rim’ to Diarmuid, who was listening intently but looked utterly lost. She smiled at them fondly before going over to the kitchen area and setting down the ingredients she managed to procure from the kitchen. Her throat was scratchy from when Saber was pressing in on it, but she wasn’t sure she would be able to get to the pool without raising suspicion. She filled a glass with water and stuck her finger in, quickly pouring her origin into it until it gently shone, and then downed it as if she were taking cold medicine. It had a sweet taste, but at the same time tasted like nothing at all. Her throat instantly eased, and she set the cup down and started to prepare a meal for them.

“Amilia!” Rika jumped up, “I didn’t realize you were back! Here, I can cook,” he got up and started to shoo her away from the preparations.

“Rika, it’s okay I--”

He stopped suddenly when he looked at her face, “What the hell happened to your neck?” he said, tilting her chin up. Diarmuid stood up quickly from his spot and made his way to her, putting a hand under her chin too.

“Those look like choking bruises,” he said, “I did not think anyone got that close to you in battle?” 

“I--” Realizing she couldn’t (and really shouldn’t) lie her way out of this, she opted to tell the truth. “I had an encounter with Saber just now.”

Diarmuid’s eyes went wide, and he immediately disappeared, no doubt to check the perimeter to make sure he was gone.

“What happened? Are you injured?” Rika started inspecting her.

“Besides these bruises and some pulled hair, no.” She swatted at his hands.

Rika ran to his suitcase and brought out a first aid kit, “Saber didn’t seem like the sort of guy to do that, though.”

“I already drank some of my origin,” she said as he hurried back and unboxed some bandages.

“Shhhh, let me pretend that I’m helping,” and started looking her over for bruises.

After a moment, she spoke, “...He thought that I was mistreating Diarmuid,” she said quietly.

“How on fucking earth did he come to that conclusion?” Rika found a small cut and started to treat it.

“Our conversation about how best to kill him didn’t sound too good when he was just hearing what Diarmuid was saying and doing.”

Rika paused, thinking it over, “Makes sense,” then went back to what he was doing. “You cleared it up, hopefully?” “Yeah, and now I have a new goal of killing Diarmuid’s old master.”

“Why’s that?” he laughed, wrapping the last of the bandages up on it then going to retrieve her an ice pack.

“Saber proposed that it might be something that they did that made him so nervous about me using command seals.” Amilia flexed her hand, inspecting the new bandages.

“Hmm yeah, he did mention something about that,” Rika said off-handley and pressed an ice pack to her throat, telling her to hold it there.

She froze, “He did?”

He looked at her, “Oh, uh yeah. He--’”

It was at that moment Diarmuid decided to return. He walked over to her and kneeled by her side.

“Miss Velvet I--”

“Would you mind standing?” she interrupted. “I don’t like it when people are lower than me.” 

Reluctantly he stood. “Saber has vacated the premises, and I found no other servant or master signals,” he finished.

“Thank you, Diarmuid, I appreciate that.” She then turned to Rika and gave him a look, hoping he interpreted it correctly. He did thankfully, muttering something about making a familiar before leaving the room.

“How do your injuries fare?” Diarmuid asked, concerned.

“They fare well, thank you.” she said, “Listen. Sit down,” she walked over to the couch, still holding the ice pack to her throat, tapping the cushion next to him.

“Is everything alright?” he asked as he sat down.

“Yes, are _you_ alright is the better question?” she fiddled with a loose thread on the cushion.

“Yes, you have healed me back to full health. Thank you.”

“No, I mean like..mentally.”

“Mentally?” he quirked an eyebrow. 

She nodded. “Rika said you said… something about how the battle went.”

Realization dawned on his face as he awkwardly looked to the side, “Ah yes, that… I…” he paused, finding his words, “I was frightened, I’ll admit. I had a creeping horror that since you weren’t getting your way, you were going to force it. A part of me was surprised when you didn’t. But talking with Rika made me realize I’ve come to expect such behavior, and it didn’t necessarily come from you,” Exactly what Saber thought then.

“Well, that settles that then,” she leaned back into the couch and closed her eyes.

“Settles what?” he asked, sinking further into the arm of the couch, wrapping his arms around his torso.

“I’m gonna beat the shit out of your previous Master.”

That statement startled a laugh out of him, “I don’t think it would be very satisfying! Last time I saw him, he was in a wheelchair.”

“Ah well…” she trailed off, “You know I wouldn’t, right? Like I’m not going to, ever. Do that to you, I mean.”

He looked at her, the singular lock draping in front of his face. “I know now, thank you.”

She nodded, and just then came a knock on the door. Diarmuid got up silently and crept over to answer it. Amilia followed just behind, again trying to imitate his steps to keep quiet. He materialized his yellow spear.

“Hey, y'all done?” Came Rika’s voice. The two of them breathed a sigh of relief before Diarmuid put away his weapon and let him in.

“Don’t you have a key?” she asked.

“Forgot it,” he said as he trailed in and landed face-first on the bed. “You guys get some sleep,” came his muffled voice, “You still have to deal with that Berserker tomorrow.”

“Oh shit, you’re right,” she said and approached the bed. 

“I will keep watch from the couch. I won’t need sleep so you can rest easy,” Diarmuid said and plopped down on the couch again.

Amilia turned to him, “Diarmuid. I will be sleeping in the pool to recharge _Exoneration_ if we have a nasty fight again. That leaves one open bed. Lie in it.”

Sighing, he got up from his spot and assumed the same position, this time in the bed. She crawled into the pool once more.

“You really don’t care about your clothes,” Rika stated. Amilia shook her head and closed her eyes, gently floating in the golden water.

She tried to get to sleep, really, but now that she had downtime again, she found her mind going back to the question of her dagger. She brought it out, water subtly splashing around her, and held it in front of her.

“Is that your dagger?” came Rika’s quiet whispering. She looked over and saw him reaching out for it. She handed it to him.

“It did something weird today,” she said in the same hushed tone.

“What did it do?” he asked.

She really didn’t know why they were whispering; Diarmuid was undoubtedly awake, just pretending to sleep, and given her origin, the room basked in a warm golden glow of light, she could see Rika’s face as the shadows bounced off of his jaw.

“I leaped in to help Diarmuid, and it turned into a sword?”

“Like it got longer?” He turned it over in his hand.

“Yeah, and my magic changed color. Like when I cast spells, it’s usually green, but it was golden this time.”

Rika sat up and peered down at her, “Well, your origin is gold, maybe it has something to do with that?”

“Maybe.” She hadn’t thought of that. There were a lot of things that simply haven’t occurred to her today.

“Can you do it again?” He asked, handing the blade back down.

Amilia took it up again and pointed it straight into the air, and she noticed Diarmuid shifting his form, no doubt trying to get a look subtly. She tried channeling magic into it, which is what she did last time. 

Nothing happened. Green tendrils flickered up and down the blade, but nothing like golden flecks that seemed to float off the edge of the sword, like dandelion fluff.

“I don’t think so,” she said, putting it down.

“Well, no use crying over spilled milk,” Rika yawned and turned back over.

“I don’t think that phrase really works here,” Amilia pointed out.

“Shh, I’m asleep,” and then he made exaggerated snoring sounds.

Diarmuid chuckled lightly and turned back over. Amilia closed her eyes again and dreamed about gentle waves and floating golden lights.

The next morning Rika checked on his familiar and reported that Saber and his master did not appear to be in the city any longer. Diarmuid took the news seemingly fine but had a somewhat disappointed look on his face as if he wanted him to be here still.

“All that’s left is the Berserker then,” Amilia said, gathering her things to leave the room.

“There’s one complication,” Rika said, handing her a hydro flask with her origin inside.

“What’s that?” she asked, taking it.

“I’ve tried viewing him remotely, and I got his current position pinned down. He’s not moving for the time being, but I can’t see any of his stats.”

Diarmuid chimed in, “Yes, my master was encountered with the same problem during the previous war, he believed it was an innate skill the servant has.”

“So we won’t be able to gauge his weaknesses,” Amilia mumbled, resting the bottle on her lip.

“Not as easily no,” Diarmuid said.

“And where is he now?” 

“In the car park near the Cathedral.”

“Perfect, let’s go.” Amilia hoisted her bag onto her back.

They left the hotel early, walking into the streets, there was cold moisture hanging in the air, a cloudy overhead that told them it was probably going to rain soon. Predictably, the two of them could feel a few drops here and there. Amilia and Diarmuid walked side by side, any other day, it would’ve been perfectly normal, but there was still no one on the streets despite the violence stopping late in the evening yesterday. Amilia sneaked a glance at Diarmuid and found his brow furrowed in contemplation. She looked back ahead.

“So, what were you thinking in terms of dueling this guy?” she asked.

Diarmuid shook his head, “No, not with him.”

“Not with him?” she asked, confused.

“I will be able to employ any tactics you need of me,” he said.

Amilia picked up the pace, so she was slightly ahead of him, then turned around, so she was walking backward. “Okay, this is what I meant by telling me about the code. Why is this Berserker different?”

He averted his eyes, “There is no honor in defeating a man who’s so in the throes of madness, he doesn’t really see his opponent.” His eyes then snapped to her, and he reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, shifting her slightly. She saw why as she passed a fire hydrant in the path she was walking down.

“So it’s almost like they have to consent to the battle?” Amilia asked, trying to relate it to terms that she knew about, still walking backward.

“That’s as good an explanation as any,” Diarmuid replied. She turned back around. 

“Good, good, yeah, we should be able to get rid of him quickly then,“ she nodded to herself. She took a step forward and brought her foot down with slightly more force than necessary to cast an invisibility spell, the same one she cast when finding Diarmuid. They crept along in silence after that.

After a while, they passed the Cathedral in all its silent imposition. It towered over them in the cloudy sky, making the air feel damper and more depressing than it already was. Amilia wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but she could tell something was going to. She suppressed a shiver.

“Diarmuid,” she said.

He stepped out in front of her and turned his head, looking for threats.

“Hmm?” 

“I want to be by your side this round.” They just came out from underneath the Cathedrals shadow, but there wasn’t much more light to be had in the open space.

He took a moment to answer, “If you wish.” He started to crowd closer to her, manifesting his spears and she could practically see the tension running up and down his back.

Something about that answer didn’t sit right with her, “Is that okay?”

“If you wish it then it is,” he said in return.

Which told her it probably wasn’t, but she didn’t want to fight before battle again, so she resolved to bring it up later.

They approached the car park; it was underground for the most part, with a slight inclining gap where no doubt cars were supposed to enter and exit. The air coming from the entrance spoke of dread and terrible things, and she found herself wanting to go as far away from this area as much as possible. 

Swallowing thickly, she reached out to touch Diarmuid’s back as they crept forward, the touch letting her steel her resolve. She felt his own strength in kind, and she gave him a surge of magic, both to aid and as a reward. The lights grew dimmer as they went further down, what was already dull, yellow bulbs also seemed to be losing their electricity, a couple of them flickering so the room would brighten for a second then dim again. Amilia tried not to be frantic as she looked around, but couldn’t help it. For the most part, she never really did well with creepy things. 

Suddenly, from deep within the garage came a low rumble that Amilia wasn’t sure if it came from a man or a beast.

“That’s him,” Diarmuid whispered and brought his spears up, “Miss Velvet, remember, he can turn different things he touches into a noble phantasm of some sort, be watchful of what he grabs.”

Amilia nodded, but then verbally affirmed that she heard when she realized that she was behind him. Splaying her hand across Diarmuid’s back, she did a magic sweep of the lot they were in, subconsciously using Diarmuid as an anchor (not that it would hurt him), and though she could feel a distant ping of… something on her radar.

“Lancer, I don’t think it’s just us.”

Just then, Rika spoke in her ear, thankfully not yelling this time, “I’m not sensing anything unusual?”

“See if you can find a trace of a master, I think there’s another servant here,” Amilia told him.

“On it,” he said, then went quiet again.

They walked upon a fork in the levels, one that went up, no doubt to another section or entrance, another that went further in. They had been descending for a while now so there was no telling how deep they were already. There were only a few cars they actually came across. No doubt everyone got them out of there when they saw what was going on.

Diarmuid spoke softly, “Where do you feel the other servant?”

“Up ahead, Berserker’s lower, I can feel that pretty keenly.” 

“Let’s be aware if it changes, but focus on Berserker right now,” Diarmuid said and went to take the lower level. He stopped when he felt Amilia’s hand disconnect from his back.

“I’m going up,” she said.

Diarmuid turned around, “You’re what?”

“I want to confirm what that is, and I trust that you can take on that Berserker by yourself. If you can’t, we’re linked, and I can teleport to you.”

Diarmuid looked at her before tightening his grip on his spears, “If you wish,” he said while bowing his head. He headed down his way but kept turning back to look at her as she headed up, maintaining eye contact for as long as possible. She didn’t feel totally comfortable leaving him by himself but also felt like she had to make up for letting something get the jump on them in the last battle. If this was something she could take care of, then she would do it. No matter the damage.

The lighting got a little bit better the further she went up, though there were cracks in the ceiling where the daylight was getting through, suggesting there were structural problems. Amilia brought her dagger out as she walked, trying to remember how Diarmuid placed his feet to move best. She closed her eyes and reached out with her magic again, but now without Diarmuid, she felt the reach was limited. Still, she couldn’t help the feeling of dread that weighed at her bones, and of the goosebumps that crawled along the back of her neck. Something was here, she knew it. She just couldn’t _see_ it.

He couldn’t believe her, she had just said they were going to remain together this time, but now she runs off to confront a servant on her own? Should he have stopped her? Should he go back for her? She is the Master, he’s the subordinate there’s only so much he can say against her, but _still._ He felt his own stomach gnaw in worry as he traveled the increasingly dimming, almost tunnel at this point, with little to no cars and tall supporting pillars that reminded him of fairy caves. He could reach out a little bit to feel servants, but without Miss Velvet by his side, he couldn’t “see” as far. He was still getting used to the new rules when it came to magic as a servant. A distant crash made him brace himself, accompanied by a drop in his stomach as he heard an all too familiar low rumble and clanking of metal.

Hissing. Amilia was sure she heard hiss, but where was it coming from? She turned left and right, trying to locate the sound. There weren’t venomous snakes in England, right?

“Rika, any hits on a master yet?” she asked. Maybe it was a Master’s ability? No response. She tried again, still no response. Slightly worried now, she was about to cast “All-Seer” on the hotel when she felt a gust of wind that felt suspiciously like an exhale on the back of her neck. She jumped forward and spun around, slashing her dagger down, but it passed through nothing. She felt it again, this time hitching in a way that suggested laughter, and she stuck her arms outward and cast a ball of energy to spiral out from her. It caught onto something for a split second before fading away again.

“Closer~” A light, almost regal feminine voice came from her left. She slashed with her dagger again. She was starting to get really freaked out.

Diarmuid caught a glimpse of the life-like shadow he had encountered in the previous war, the light giving the barest hint of reflection, and giving the impression of black mud moving just beyond the line of sight. Through it, a piercing red gaze could be seen. Diarmuid ducked behind a car, not sure if the Berserker saw him yet. He slowed his breathing down as he heard the slow _clank, clank, clank,_ of metal get just a bit closer, then pause, then get further away. He chanced a peek around the car and gasped at what he saw

Okay, there was definitely something slithering on the ground right now. Through the cracks in the ceiling, she saw the faint glittering of scales shifting in and out of the shadows. She surged her magic again, and this time caught a form just jumping out of reach. Putting a teether on her dagger, she launched it towards the form.

“You’re almost there,” the voice came again. More slithering, and then it reappeared right by Amilia’s ear. “But you’ll have to do better than that.”

Pulling on the teether, she brought her dagger back to her side, only to find as her hand was reaching out, a black snake coiled up it and twisted, cutting off circulation in her arm. Similar snakes appeared on her other arm, legs, and torso until she couldn’t move from the reptiles entrapping her. The more she struggled, the more they tightened around her, and it was at this moment the presence she had been noticing materialized in front of Amilia. She cried out as each of the snakes bit into her skin and twisted, _hard_.

Something seemed to be oozing from the Berserker’s form, from the divots in his armor seeping what looked like black sludge, and he watched as it dripped to the ground. The Mad Warrior walked as if he was trekking through mud, movements slowing as he stumbled down the garage. Diarmuid put up his yellow spear and brandished the red one in both hands. He felt it more important to have a defense against magic then to cast unhealing wounds at this point. Slowly, he stalked out from behind the car. The Berserker was facing away from him but turned as he approached.

It was a woman, she looked to be of Asian descent. She wore wide black pants and a white halter top, tied around her neck. A green bodice of sorts wrapped her waist, and Amilia thought she could see fishnets underneath what she was wearing. A circular hat dawned her head, the strap coming down to cover one of the dark eyes, further obscured by dark hair. The outfit did not immediately bring “killer” to mind, but the look in her eyes did.

“Assassin?” Amilia choked out, trying to concentrate with several snakes digging their fangs into her skin.

“How astute of you, though I will admit I’m surprised you noticed me. Master only gave me the task of monitoring the Berserker.”

Something was moving in the shadows, something massive. Amilia found she could only barely focus on the Servant in front of her, eyes shifting to whatever was approaching. What loomed in the darkness was something Amilia had a hard time comprehending. A large snake, larger than the snakes that dug into her skin, loomed behind the assassin. “Though,” she continued, “I guess this is good for us, if I kill you then I won’t have to deal with your servant. Or the Berserker kills your servant and I don’t have to do anything. Everything is falling nicely into place.” The snake's jaws unhinged and opened, widening to a length that could easily swallow her whole.

Amilia’s eyes widened against the pain, and her hands clenched into fists. What _cowards_ , they couldn’t fight Diarmuid one on one, so they attack her?

_If I kill you, I won’t have to deal with your servant._

A realization like lightning shocked her very core, the almost constant thrum of magic being drained as she felt along with her connection to Diarmuid. He was inexplicably tied to her in a way she wasn’t to him. This, this magic, was the only thing connecting Diarmuid to the current world right now. If this magic went away, he would cease to exist. If _she died_ , then _he..._

A blaze of light erupted from her blade, and she recognized faintly that it had turned into a proper sword once more. The Assassin's eyes widened, and she leaped quickly out of the way of the attack, but unfortunately, her snake friend wasn’t so lucky. The room lit up in a blaze, and gold surged forward from her, obliterating the snakes that were on her. The larger snake was only a shadow in the wake of the light, jaw hinged open in a silent scream.

Then it was gone, and the room looked much darker for it afterward. Amilia blinked, trying to locate the assassin in the dark, but she found she couldn’t see. Closing her eyes, she felt around with her magic and thought herself to be alone. She looked down at her blade. It had turned into a dagger once more, but now it glowed faintly. Something clicking in her brain, she focused her magic through it again, thinking about her friends and how she wanted to protect them. The blade got brighter, and in a flash of golden sparks, turned into a sword. She brought it up to examine it, grinning in the reflected metal.

A different thing the assassin said clicked in her brain finally, and she dashed back up the corridor.

Berserker lunged at him like a wild animal, a guttural growl emanating from his throat as he reached his hands out like claws. Diarmuid stuck his spear straight in the ground and launched himself upwards, Berserker skidding on the floor underneath him. He turned and grabbed one of the few remaining cars and hurled it towards him, whatever color the car had previously been taken over by red and sickly black. Diarmuid cut in half with his spear and quickly dodged in the wake of the other pieces. Berserker barged through the middle of the car, obviously expecting to catch Diarmuid off guard. Diarmuid crouched low and through his whole body into his next jab, trying to get at a leg. Berserker screeched and threw himself over Diarmuid, disregarding the spear that went into his leg and headbutted Diarmuid. He saw white flashes dance before his eyes, and he instinctively tucked and rolled to get away from the next inevitable attack. Hastily he got up and went back into an attack position, and the Berserker threw his head back to scream once more before charging again. Diarmuid tossed his red spear in the air like a flag pole before materializing Gáe Buidhe and attempted to drive it through Berserker’s face. He, however, caught the hand that was reaching for him, twisting the arm until it would be useless to try anything with it, his maunever abandoned as he heard Gáe Derg clatter to the ground. He went to move into the grip so he could maybe gain an advantage, but it seems Berserker was ready for that because he tugged on his arm first and brought his leg up to kick Diarmuid directly in the chest, letting go of him in order to send him flying. He was launched directly into a pillar, head hitting the concrete with a painful _crack_ as he landed on the ground again. His vision was swimming, so he wasn’t sure if he actually saw what he saw next, or if it was his imagination. The smoke around the Berserker condensed, whittling and forming down until it resembled a sword by his side, the same shade of black as his armor. Berserker approached with his new weapon in hand, low growl in his throat. Diarmuid waited until he was close, then struck out on the closest body part he could find with Gáe Buidhe, which happened to be Berserker’s sword hand. Somehow, the blade did not touch bare skin but did have enough force driven behind it to crack and shatter the armor. Berserker looked down at his now exposed hand, before looking at his weapon and going to retrieve it. Diarmuid was about to run to kick it away when at that very moment Amilia found it appropriate to walk back in on their fight.

It was amazing. As Amilia walked in, she saw the two of them fighting together, and she couldn’t help but notice how it was almost a dance. The two men moved in rhythm with each other. When one would take one step another always responded in kind. Slash for slash, blow for blow, it was like they were moving to a beat that she couldn’t hear. This synchronized movement was broken, however, when Diarmuid spotted her:

“Amilia!” Diarmuid shouted to her as Berserker took a swipe. “Don’t! Something’s different--the mud.” Diarmuid seemed to promptly swallow his words as Berserker took one look at her and snapped, running towards her, sword brandished like a mad man with a stick.

“It’s okay!” she said as she brought her sword up to parry the attack, then teleported a few steps to the left, “I figured the sword out I can help you!”

“You're still very much human, Miss Velvet!” He got up and ran to retrieve his spears as Berserker brought his sword down with brutal force, Amilia had planned on blocking it, but she ended up only barely being able to slide it off of her so it wouldn’t split her clean in half. An attack from the side this time, this time Diarmuid twirled into place so he could block it himself. She leaned against him to give him more magic, which allowed him to throw off the Berserker’s attack. “Leave, now!” he demanded.

“What? You said it was fine me being with you!?” she yelled, and gave off a magic blast.

“You see that sludge coming from him? That’s some old, nasty magic coming from him, you shouldn’t mess with it!” 

The Berserker brought his sword up like he was going to attack Diarmuid, but then stuck his leg out suddenly and kicked Amilia, knocking the wind out of her and sending her tumbling back.

“Amilia!” Diarmuid shouted, sweeping both his spears underneath the Berserker, which he wasn’t coordinated enough to not fall straight to the ground. Diarmuid ran back to Amilia’s side, helping her stand and blocking her from the other Servant. Finally, she caught her breath, looking at her opponent.

Diarmuid went to jump back into battle again, but Amilia gripped him by the shoulder to pull him back. He looked at her with a thousand questions, but she was staring at the Berserker.

This was the first time she had gotten a good look at him since the fight began, and couldn’t help but see something she recognized almost. Not that any one of his features were distinct, but more that she understood it in a place not attached to physical memories. She looked at the hand that was protruding from the armor like a cracked shell and felt a _something._ She couldn’t even name it.

“Wait,” she said simply.

“Amilia that man is going to kill us,” he stated just as plainly.

“Don’t kill him.”

“What?!” Diarmuid demanded

The Berserker didn’t care much for conversations and interrupted them very rudely with an attempted attack. Both Diarmuid and Amilia ducked and rolled out in opposite ways, only to come back up again. 

“I can’t explain it!” Amilia yelled, rounding Berserker’s other end, “But please! Please don’t!”

“I--” Berserker caught him while he was distracted again, this time wrapping a hand around his throat and slamming him up a pillar again. He had both of his spears, he could jab the yellow one underneath his armor right now and end this. He _should_ do that, that was the best course of action, but… 

Diarmuid looked over at Amilia, who was running at him with desperation in her eyes, a glowing sword in her hand that looked a lot like… no, not now. He instead brought his legs up to wrap around Berserker’s arm to alleviate the pressure, leaving whatever the hell next for Amilia to figure out.

Amilia slipped on the mud that Diarmuid seemed to be talking about as she ran towards the Berserker. This made no sense, but here she was running at a Berserker who had her servant in a chokehold. She twisted her blade to start winding up its attack. Gold magic scuttled up and down her blade, out of her fingers, down her legs. She brought her foot down, and as she did, the black ink swelled up and burst out, turning to a shower of golden ichor that swirled around her. Before the magic had been like a light switch that turned on, bright and plentiful, but cold and blinding. Here, the light was just as blinding but now seemed to move in currents and waves around her, wrapping around her, and her servant, and the Berserker in front of her. She took her left hand away from the blade and reached out, sometime in this Berserker’s grip had lessened, and so one of his arms hung by his side, the one that the armor had been cut. She reached out to that hand now, magic both shoving and guiding her like a riptide towards it, and gripped it like a vice, the sword now pointed down and out away from her. All she could hear is the steady swelling of magic, as the room got brighter and brighter until she wasn’t sure where she ended and where the person she was touching began. She kept driving forward, towards a goal or to a conclusion she wasn’t sure which. She felt something snag in place, like a fish tugging at a line in the middle of a pond, and she reached out and pulled it back with all her might. 

What was left in its wake felt like it should’ve obliterated ten city blocks, but when she opened her eyes, she found the same garage where she had left it when she closed them, Diarmuid back on the ground, and the Berserker in front of them. He stood very still for a little while, a very stark contrast to how he was before. It was eerie in a way, like an animatronic you expect to move any second. Diarmuid moved to stand in front of her, waiting for something to happen. 

Then, a sound eerily like a creak came from him, and the Berserker tipped forward and fell straight down. Diarmuid, on instinct, moved in to catch him, but the weight of the man and the armor combined proved too much, and he succeeded only in breaking the fall, collapsing underneath the weight. Amilia was incredibly useless, merely stepping out of the way to give them room to fall. Diarmuid, trapped with this person’s weight over top of him, looked up to Amilia for help. 

“Turn him over,” she told him, and he complied, his head now snug in Diarmuid’s chest, legs sprawled out everywhere. She stepped over one of them and went to sit between them, if she were to heal him this is the best place.

“Amilia, what the hell was that?” He asked.

“I… I don’t know,” Amilia said honestly. She brought her hands up to start healing, which is when she noticed a new mark on her other hand.

“Diarmuid.” 

He looked up, and she showed him the second set of command seals that dawned her right hand now. Exactly like the other one, they sat symmetrically across from each other. She felt the Berserker’s new drain on her magic, a lot more than Diarmuid’s, but manageable.

“He’s your servant now then.”

“Looks like it.”

He sighed at that, “I suppose he’s our problem to deal with then.” He shifted his grip on him somewhat. The berserker’s head turned and lolled slightly, making Amilia think she should probably get the helmet off. Leaning forward, she felt underneath it for a way to take it off and thought she felt a latch of some sort behind his head. Slipping it off, she and Diarmuid braced themselves for the kind of person they would find underneath it. 

However, as she took the helmet off, a cascade of dark, shiny hair fell around his face, which revealed a man that didn’t look like a beast at all. He had high-set cheekbones and droopy eyes, accentuated by a long nose and full eyebrows. He looked… normal. Not what she was expecting at all. And judging how Diarmuid looked down at him, he wasn’t expecting that either.

He was pretty, she admitted, but in a way that people tell her someone’s beautiful, but she didn’t understand where they were coming from. His features were too sharp for her liking.

“Didn’t think we would find a beautiful man underneath that armor,” Diarmuid said quietly. Well, whatever it was, Diarmuid saw it.

“Hm, yeah,” she said, and put her hands on the Berserker’s chest and started healing him.

“Can you tell his true name?” he asked.

That question gave her pause, and she checked her link with him to see if she could. She found a bunch of things, stats, and names for different abilities with little summaries. Not in any actual defined terms, more that she instinctively knew what he could do, but no name. She tried to think of Servants who would use the abilities he has, but outside of some Greek heroes and the small group she researched before getting Diarmuid, she didn’t know that many legends.

“No, I can’t.”

‘Well that’s concerning if he wakes up and is a mindless beast then--”

Diarmuid is then cut off by a hand reaching up and caressing the side of his face. It startled him enough that he followed the motion and grabbed the hand, looking down at the owner. Berserker had woken up and was looking at the person holding him quietly. It was still dim where they are, but Amilia could see he had a dark eye color and kind eyes. How did this guy become a Berserker?

“Hello there,” Diarmuid said.

“Hello…” Berserker whispered, his voice low and raspy, probably because he had been screaming for the last few minutes. He blinked up at Diarmuid, “You’re pretty.”

That earned a small smile from Diarmuid as his eyes immediately softened towards him, “Well, aren’t you the sweetest thing.”

Berserker closed his eyes again as his hand dropped, obviously falling unconscious once more. Diarmuid ran small circles over his shoulders as Amilia finished up her healing, then debated what to do with getting him out of there. The armor was too heavy for Diarmuid to carry… but could she?

She reached out and felt the armor through her link, and found something she could only describe as an ‘off’ switch, and she leaned into it. With a darkness that melted, the armor was stripped away, leaving a dark tunic and black pants.

“I hope armor is the limit as to how you can undress us,” Diarmuid said, and Amilia felt it was only half of a joke.

“I wouldn’t do it unless necessary,” she assured, “Can you carry him now?” 

The two of them managed to plop Berserker onto Diarmuid’s back; however, it looked slightly awkward. Though Diarmuid was by no means short, Berserker had a few inches on him, and as such his legs looked a little too long to be carried. His head rested on Diarmuid’s shoulder, which he nuzzled into slightly, mumbling.

“Alright, let’s go,” Amilia said, and then they walked out like that.

When they walked out of the garage, the sun had come out slightly more than when they had walked in, though it was still gloomy. More people lined the streets than when they walked in, and a couple of them spared a glance towards the odd trio. Amilia looked over and ruffled the Berserker’s hair.

“So, you didn’t find out who he was in the previous war?”

“No,” Diarmuid responded, attempting to look at Berserker’s head. “We never encountered his Master, and I only saw him a handful of times.”

“Anything from his behavior indicated what legend he’s from?”

“Well, he did have this fixation on the Saber of our war,” Diarmuid tilted his head, “He would often break whatever attack he was partaking in to attack her.”

“Do you know who the Saber was?”

“King Arthur.” Diarmuid continued walking ahead after dropping that bomb like it wasn’t anything.

“What?” Amilia stopped. “You… You fought _King Arthur?_ Like the Camelot bitch?”

Diarmuid turned back around, looking absolutely smug, “Yeah, and I got a few good swipes in too.”

She stared at him in amazement, “Man, I really did pick the perfect servant, didn’t I,” she said, which made Diarmuid embarrassed, a lovely blush dawning his cheeks. She walked back up to him. “Wait. Did you say ‘she’?” Amilia asked.

“King Arthur is a woman, yes. Her real name is Arturia.” He shifted his grip on the man he was carrying and continued as well.

A curious sense of pride filled her at that; she was pleased with that knowledge.

“So, he might’ve known her then.” Amilia tapped her chin. “Do you think he might be one of Arthur’s knights?”

“He might be I--” 

That’s when Berserker made a helpful comment about the situation, 

“Aaarthur,” he rasped, turning his head to the other side.

“Well, that answers that then!” Amilia grinned.

Diarmuid smiled too. “Indeed.”

They continued like that for a little bit until Amilia noticed it started to get hotter. Like a lot hotter, which was strange because the sky was just as cloudy as ever, but she couldn’t shake the feeling she was in oppressive heat. Then, her vision started swimming, and the floor seemed to tilt to a ninety-degree angle, which didn’t seem right. She reached out to Diarmuid to steady herself, who stopped with the motion.

“Amilia?” he questioned.

She felt her legs give out from underneath her, and Diarmuid caught her with one arm, somehow balancing the person on his back as well. He guided her to a bench, which she sat down heavily on, and he slid Berserker off of his back and went to her side. “What’s wrong?”

“I--” She felt her tongue was stapled with cotton swabs. It both hurt and felt like she could barely talk. “I don’t know…” 

Diarmuid reached behind her and slipped her bag off her back, rummaging through it. It was then she remembered the Assassin. “Assh--Assassin, sh-she had… snakes. Bit me.” she managed to say. Diarmuid found the water bottle and unscrewed the cap, putting one hand behind her head, tilting her up, and pressed the lid to her lip. He made soothing sounds as she drank, and she closed her eyes at the cool sensation of the water. The dizziness faded from her head somewhat, and she brought her hand up to grip his wrist.

“See, this is why I didn’t want you to run off on your own,” Diarmuid said eventually. 

She frowned at his words and tightened her grip, but finished the drink off. She took the bottle from him and stood up.

“You feel better?” he asked.

“What do you want from me?” she responded.

He tilted his head, confused, “What do you mean?”

“First, you wanted me away from the battle, but that ended horribly for you, then I wanted to be by your side, which you seemed to have a problem with, so I go away again to _help_ you and prevent the same thing from happening, but you didn’t like that either! So what do you want from me?”

He averted his gaze, “I need nothing, I’m here to serve you in the way you see fit.”

“But you obviously have a preference?” She demanded more than asked.

The two of them started to talk over each other, cutting each other off. 

“I have no such thing--” 

“Then why do you purse your lips when--”

“Amilia, I just want you to--”

“Diarmuid, you obviously have a problem, so just--”

“I have no problem I just--”

“--Just fucking _spit it out_ I--”

“--I just--”

“--Honestly, I don’t know how you expect this partnership to go if--”

Diarmuid raised his voice to cut her off this time, eyes blazing, “I just want you to be safe! You disregard common sense, and it seems you always make asinine decisions that endanger you! Stay with me, but don’t fight, stay away from the battle but don’t fight a goddamn Servant by yourself, or this happens! I don’t _want_ you to be in danger, I don’t care where you are, just let me protect you! I’m your _Servant!”_ He practically bellowed the last word, looking her right in the eye.

This entire time they had been together, Diarmuid had not once raised his voice at her. He spoke with the same, even mellow tone no matter what he was saying to her, so this volume change surprised her. She reflexively tightened the flask to her chest, turning her shoulder towards him slightly. Her eyes widened in shock.

Diarmuid immediately saw the change in body language and instantly backed away from her, dropping to one knee and bowing his head so far down it must’ve given him a crick in his neck. She set her bottle down and stepped towards him, arms out like she was taming a wild animal.

“Diarmuid, it’s okay--”

“Master, I’m sorry. That transgression was too much, I have become too familiar with--” 

“Diarmuid, get up,” she reached towards him and put her hands on his shoulders.

He shrunk away from her grip, “I shouldn’t have ever--”

“Diarmuid, I’m _happy,_ ” she articulated.

His eyes snapped up, so wide she could see the gold clearly, “What?”

She smiled at him, almost laughing, “Diarmuid, I think that’s the first time you spoke your mind to me since we’ve started. Your yelling surprised me, but I’m happy you told me. Your anger tells me what I need to do.” She knelt in front of him until they were eye level, her arms still on his shoulders. “So… essentially… don’t be a dumbass, so I don’t worry you?” she clarified.

The laugh that came from him was like chicken soup to her frayed nerves, “Essentially, something like that.”

“Well, I feel like a useless piece of shit if I’m just watching yourself almost get killed, but I’ll agree to not separate myself from you like that again. So, to compromise, can I stay by your side to help you fight?”

Diarmuid took a stabilizing breath, “Yes, I think that can be arranged.”

She grinned, “Great!” She stood up and reached her hand out to him, which he took after a moment's hesitation. She had a glint in her eyes that reminded him of Fionn when he was younger, and he felt himself strangely nostalgic, looking at her. In their brief time fighting together, it had been fine, so maybe this arrangement can work.

“Oi!” A noise came from their left, and both of their heads snapped to it at the same time. It was a police officer. Just what they needed, “Oi, I know the evacuation order just ended, but it still isn’t a good idea for you to be out on the streets casually. What are you lot doing out here?” He approached until he came into view of Berserker, who was still slumped against the bench where Diarmuid left him. “What the hell is wrong with him?”

“Um, well, this is--” Amilia started, but Diarmuid stepped smoothly in front of her and took over. However, she could practically feel the annoyance flooding off of him. 

“Good afternoon, officer! We were just heading back up to our flat, and this poor bastard’s still off his ass.” He pointed a thumb to him, then went to pick him back up again, “Can barely keep his eyes open, the bloke. We were just on our way, though!”

The officer eyed them suspiciously when Berserker timely flapped his arm and grunted something, which seemed to appease him. “Alright, then, off on your way.”

“Alright, will do!” Diarmuid waved good-naturedly, but as soon as the officer was out of view, he muttered, “Bitch,” under his breath.

Amilia almost died in hysterics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of the chapter comes from dodie's "Monster," (https://youtu.be/1bjD1tarzr4) It's a really good song, and it gives me Lancelot vibes when I hear it.
> 
> Speaking of which, the lad! Has arrived! This chapter was a lot of fun to write, and I've been gearing up to write for a long time. I'm really happy with how it turned out! Let me know what you think!


	8. New and Old Beginnings

They reached the hotel with no further incident. They walked back into the lobby, and for the most part, it seemed to have gone back to normal. People were milling about with bags, checking in, and wandering into the cafeteria area. It was so funny how quickly people go back to what they think is normal after a catastrophic incident. As Amilia walked past, she noticed a new receptionist was sitting behind the counter. _Good,_ she thought, _He deserved better._

They headed back up to their room in comfortable silence, the awkward tension that always seemed to hang over their shoulders abated for the most part. Diarmuid actually looked relaxed, hand thrumming on the side of the wall, and seemed to be humming a little tune to himself. She did find it weird that no one else even spared a glance at them, what with Diarmuid carrying a whole person, but maybe that’s just the vibe the hotel gave off. Shrugging to herself, she swiped the card to her room and walked in.

To be met with complete and utter chaos. She walked in and found the table by the door on its side like it had been chucked, leg broke off from it. Deep slashes dawned the wall, trailing further into the room like someone had stuck something into the wall and ran forward, wallpaper peeling from it. One of the beds was askew, the other entirely by its side, and the fridge had several deep puncture wounds in it. There were multiple blades strewn about, each looking to be of the same make as each of the others, to which Amilia immediately recognized as being Rika’s. Feeling like she was walking through mud, she wandered in while Diarmuid braced himself for combat, quickly dumping their new servant onto the still upright bed before checking for signs of intruders. The pool also looked to have been punctured, golden water pooling in the shaggy carpet, making each step have an accompanying squelching sound. That’s where she found him; the pool had somewhat obstructed his form. 

Rika.

She ran forward and practically fell on top of him, gathering his form into her arms. Blood pooled from his chin as his eyes stared blankly at something behind her. Deep cuts riddled his chest, shirt torn to shreds and bloodied. She traced over his face to wipe the blood away and shakily brought her hand to his neck to check his pulse, using her magic to do so as well. Faintly, oh so faintly, she felt a slight beat at the tips of her fingers, and a small spark at the edge of her magic. Amilia choked back a sob. 

He’s still alive.

“Diarmuid!” She called, voice shrill and broken, “Start a bath!” She quickly picked up under his legs, arm supporting his back as she stumbled to the bathroom.

“Wha-- Oh right.” Came Diarmuid’s voice, accompanied by running water.

She walked into the bathroom holding him, which Diarmuid attempted to help her but she paid him no mind, there wasn’t nearly enough water yet but she threw him in any way, keeping mind of his head, of course. She crawled in after him and practically laid on top of him, head on Rika’s chest, just listening to his shortened breathing as she felt the water rise around them. It was lukewarm, which was slightly out of her preference, but Diarmuid probably didn’t want to have to deal with waiting for the water to cool. She held Rika tighter, and after a few minutes, she felt Diarmuid place a hand gently on her back, rubbing it slowly. 

She had no idea how long they sat like that. After a while, she noticed her origin taking effect, the water turning from clear to gold, and bathing the room in soft light, but she had no reference for the actual passage of time. All she could focus on was Diarmuid rubbing methodical circles on her back, and Rika’s shaking breathing. He had started shivering at some point, to which Diarmuid turned the water back on to warm him up, but with not wanting to drain any water, it meant the tub was too full. With every movement, water sloshed onto the tiles.

Finally, finally, she felt a weak cough from Rika and his arms on her shoulders, pushing them to an upright position. He looked tired and pale, shivering so violently it made small waves, but he was _alive._

“Thank you,” he said, voice shaking, “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

She reached out to touch his shoulder as Diarmuid exited the bathroom, coming back in to dump almost every towel they had in the room onto the bathroom floor before leaving again, Amilia hearing the faint click of the room’s door. Rika held his face in his hands, rubbing his palms into his eye sockets. Amilia tucked her legs into herself and wrapped her arms around them, just watching.

“I’m okay,” he said almost as if he were convincing himself.

“What happened?” She was terrified of asking, and even more scared of the answer.

He took a while before he talked, “When you told me there was another Servant with you, I tried to broaden out and find the master.” Rika rubbed the back of his head, “Before I knew it there was a signal fast approaching and a guy kicking my teeth in.”

They heard the door open again, and Diarmuid stepped into the bathroom with towels stacked so high neither of them could see his face. He laid some more on the floor before propping the rest on the toilet.

“How long does he need?” he asked.

Amilia checked his vitals, which were stable for the most part, though just a bit weak.

“Probably not much longer,” she said.

“Then Assassin showed up.” Rika continued. 

Diarmuid hopped onto the counter while Amilia finally climbed out, wrapping one of the many towels around her before sitting against the door.

“Assuming she’s a woman, did she have a big circular hat on with green pants?”

Rika nodded, “I take it you met her, then?”

“Only briefly, she poisoned me.”

Rika leaned forward to rest his head on the edge of the tub, “That’s weird, she was reluctant to do anything to me.”

“What do you mean?”

Rika closed his eyes as he recalled, “She walked in and started in on her master, saying stuff like ‘Not my people, not again, you can’t make me,’ which pissed him right the fuck off. Part of that was us fighting, but she also started attacking him too.” He frowned, “He used a command seal to force her to use her noble phantasm, and she started crying, saying she didn’t have it anymore. He got even angrier that he wasted a command seal, and grabbed her by the hair before dragging her out of the room, leaving me for dead at that point.” He opened his eyes, looking at Amilia, “I take it you were the ones who got rid of it?”

Diarmuid shook his head while Amilia nodded, to which both of them looked surprised.

“In other news, I figured out the sword,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. Neither of them laughed.

Rika took a deep sigh and stood up, shaking himself like a dog to get the water off, then stepped out into the placemat of towels, taking one from Diarmuid.

“‘ _Her people_ ,’” Amilia said, “Do you think she didn’t want to kill you because you’re Asian?”

“Maybe something like that,” Rika said, sounding tired. He leaned against Diarmuid. “I’m tired.” He yawned. The two of them practically cocooned him in more towels before exiting the bathroom.

Everything was fine for about two seconds until Rika’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. The four swords he had strewn about lifted themselves and flitted to his side as he dropped to a crouch.

“There’s a servant here,” he said.

“Oh yeah, that’s Berserker,” Amilia confirmed, panicked at first but now was fine. They walked to the bed where he was still passed out, sleeping curled on his side with his hair obstructing his face.

“Oh, okay. Cause that’s normal,” Rika said.

“Yeah also,” she showed him the new command seals, “He’s my servant now, I guess. Some weird magic was happening when we were fighting him.”

Rika just nodded, not looking like he was processing the information at all.

“We don’t have confirmations seeing as he’s still asleep, but I _think_ the mad-berserker rage thing is gone. Also, we don’t know his name and--”

“Ah Amilia,” Diarmuid interjected, “Maybe we don’t bombard the recently traumatized boy with new, not necessary info?”

Amilia looked back at Rika again to see he was almost falling asleep again. “Ah yeah, you're probably right. Here--” She boosted her physical prowess with magic to turn the other bed back over, patting it. Rika looked like he would lie in it, but then laid down in the remnants of the kiddie pool and curled up into a fetal position. Amilia blinked before taking a pillow and putting it under his head and throwing a blanket over him.

She watched him for a bit, “Do you think he’ll be fine?”

Diarmuid took a deep breath, “If you mean fine as in, he’ll get over this incident and not be affected by it at all, then no.” He held his hand up when Amilia went to interject, “But if he has the right people around him, the right support, then he _will_ be able to recover from it. Not in the same way, but…the cracks that formed from this will be sealed with love and compassion.”

That made her feel a bit better.

Diarmuid reached out to rub her shoulder before grabbing an overturned chair and setting it by the window before sitting down on it. He sat in it like such a dude, legs five feet from each other, and his arms were crossed as he leaned back.

“The lad will be fine, he’s tough I can tell.”

Amilia hummed at that, and was about to say something when Berserker made a grunting sound before shifting around. The two of them watched with interest as he sat up, looking like a cat waking up from a nap, dawning a nasty case of bedhead while he blinked blearily.

“He’s awake,” Amilia whispered.

Diarmuid nodded, not taking his eyes off him before talking, “Hello there, glad you joined the land of the living.”

Berserker continued to blink around at the room, hands tightening around the sheets underneath him, before rubbing at his temples. Amilia was just suspecting that maybe she was wrong, he was still crazy and they’d have to reign him in, when he spoke.

“Where am I?” he asked in the same low tone he did in the parking garage, though with less of the raspiness.

“Where are you physically right now or where are you in general?” Diarmuid asked. 

Amilia walked over to him and started to scan him, looking for any other injuries. He flinched away slightly when she was up by his head, but let her work when she didn’t touch him. Though he kept a wary eye on her.

“In general I suppose. Though...Edinburgh? Is that right? We’re in England?”

“So you can access Grail knowledge,” Diarmuid said.

Berserker nodded, “I know I’m a servant, and I know I’m in England,” he talked as if slowly realizing this information. “You’re my master.” He turned to Amilia, who nodded. 

“Amilia Velvet is the name. Do you know who you are?” she asked and waited for the response in anticipation.

He nodded immediately; he didn’t need to remember that, “I am Lancelot du Lac,” he replied.

Both Amilia and Diarmuid made impressed noises.

“We figured you were probably a Round Table knight, but...wow,” Amilia mumbled, eyes wide.

Lancelot straightened his back at the praise, almost as if bracing himself from it. He turned to Amilia again, “Master, I apologize, I don’t seem to remember being summoned.”

“Well that’s…” she started, “Complicated…”

She did her best to explain what happened, with Diarmuid filling in when he needed to.

“I see,” he said when they were done, putting a hand on his chin, “Then it seems I have caused you trouble. Please accept my apologies.”

“Well,” Amilia rubbed her head, “It was sort of troublesome, but that’s hardly your fault.”

Lancelot looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t. He looked to the side, “Why did you figure I was a Roundtable knight then?” he asked instead.

Amilia looked at Diarmuid, and Lancelot followed her gaze.

“Based on how you interacted with King Arthur. Well, you were awfully focused on fighting her when your mad enhancement was up. You interrupted our fight.”

Lancelot frowned, “I don’t seem to recall this. When did we meet? How is it you know my King?”

_My King, that’s so cute,_ Amilia thought, sitting on the edge of the other bed.

Diarmuid looked surprised, “Do you not remember the Fourth Grail War?”

Lancelot thought for a moment before he rubbed his temples again, “Things are… blurry. Hard to grasp anything, but I don’t remember much, barely that I even participated.” He paused, “You said ‘she’?”

Diarmuid tilted his head, bemused, “Well yeah, you look at her once, and you can tell. I don’t know how she hid it in life, but as she appeared before me, she was obviously a woman. Did you not know?”

That drew a small laugh from Lancelot, “ _I_ knew, though my other knights did not. You are right; once you are told this fact, it’s hard to unsee it. You are smarter than we were then.” He laughed self-deprecatingly.

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Diarmuid reassured, “You saw what you were told to see, no one can fault you for that,” he said with conviction.

That statement startled Lancelot into silence. He looked at Diarmuid like a curious puzzle. A weird silence fell over the room, which Rika conventitly decided to break, sitting upwards before wrapping the blanket around him tighter. Lancelot had not seen him there and jumped out of the other side of the bed before realizing what he was. Rika crawled up into the bed, effectively taking Lancelot’s spot.

“That’s Rika, he’s had a rough day,” Amilia explained.

Lancelot nodded and looked around the room, “Is that why this room is in the state it’s in?”

Amilia was again drawn back to the damage Rika’s fight had cost. She’d have to pay for damages surly, she sighed. “Yeah…” She should probably fix that. “Hey, I’m going to disassociate for a bit while I try to fix this room. That cool?” Not waiting for a reply, she went to sit in the center of the room, closing her eyes as light green energy formed small circles around her, and slowly the room started to shift.

Diarmuid walked up to her and waved his hand over her face for a few seconds. Satisfied that she was indeed disassociating, he turned to Lancelot, who was still standing awkwardly by the bed.

“Let’s give the lads some space, yeah?” Diarmuid gestured.

Lancelot looked like he was going to say something, but then nodded and followed him out.

The sun was just about to set when they ventured out into the city. The street lamps were already on despite there being enough light, and decent amount of people dawned the sidewalk. Obviously, the danger that Berserker had posed was no longer a threat in their eyes. Diarmuid looked back over at said perpetrator. 

Lancelot’s eyes were furrowed in concentration, and he periodically flexed and unflexed his hands as if getting used to their grip again. He had long hair that reflected beautifully in the setting sun, and Diarmuid thought he could almost see a purple hue highlighted in it. Lancelot looked over, and Diarmuid snapped away, embarrassed at having been caught.

“I don’t think I got your name,” Lancelot said, mercifully not commenting on it.

“Diarmuid Ua Duibhne,” he replied. 

It was Lancelot’s turn to stare, “Of the Knights of Fianna?” When Diarmuid nodded, he stopped and turned, “It is a great honor to be able to fight by your side.”

“Likewise, of course,” Diarmuid said. Though this felt a bit more… formal than he was expecting, after how strongly they started off in the car garage. “You said you don’t remember the Grail War? Or fighting me before?”

Lancelot shook his head, “I’m afraid I do not, I ask for forgiveness for my past actions.”

Diarmuid couldn’t quite shake the feeling of disappointment at that, but no matter, “It’s okay,” he handwaved and kept walking.

They came across a fountain, though no one seemed to be using it, whatever couples that walked past would only point to it before hurrying on. Diarmuid hopped onto the stone edge and walked around it, hands out like he was balancing. Lancelot planted himself and merely watched.

“If I can ask you a question,” he said eventually. 

Diarmuid spun around, “Yeah go for it.”

“You said you met my King?”

At that, Diarmuid stopped, stepped down, and sat on the fountain's edge, tapping the spot next to him. After a moment, Lancelot complied with the silent request.

“She was the Saber of our Grail War. We both fought with each other and against each other in various battles, mostly against Caster.”

He had been trying very hard to not think about it and hadn't even brought up what happened with Amilia yet.

But with Lancelot… he wasn’t sure why but he felt the need to tell him. He felt like he would understand where he was coming from. Maybe even provide a bit of closure. He was having a hard time resolving the Saber he knew in battle with someone who was actively plotting against him. He had thought she would have known what her Master was planning, but as he recalled her face as he lay dying, it was hard to see the malicious intent behind it.

So he told him—the whole thing. Lancelot listened intently and though he scooted closer when the emotional toll began to weigh on him, he did not touch Diarmuid.

“Then… my master made me use a command seal to… And they all stood by and _watched_. I was so angry with everything around me that I was throwing curses left and right. I thought for sure Saber was in on it--”

Lancelot pulled away from him and stood up, an intense look on his face, “My King, would _never_. She is kind and virtuous in all things that she does and always acts with honor and dignity. There is no way she would be involved with a plan such as that!”

His intense words brought a lump to Diarmuid’s throat, and something in his stomach eased somewhat. “Thank you… that--that makes me feel better. Though a part of me is a bit skeptical.” Lancelot went to speak again but Diarmuid cut him off, “I’ll ask her,” he resolved, “I’ll ask her myself, allow her to give an explanation. Though I figure now, it might not be what I think it is.”

Lancelot didn’t quite know what to say to that, finger hanging awkwardly in the air. Diarmuid stood up and was about to continue walking when something in Lancelot’s eyes caught his attention. A sort of recognition, the feeling of something familiar.

“What about you then?” Diarmuid asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well. Your legend, it’s full of bright battles and exploits, of sharp wit and prowess. You seem to be more fit for a Saber class, but as you stand before me, you’re a Berserker.” Of course, he knew the general gist of what happened in Camelot, but he wanted to hear it from someone that was there.

Lancelot frowned, deep creases cutting into his brow, telling Diarmuid he frowned like that quite often. For a moment, he wondered if he pressed too far too quickly when thankfully, he answered. “I wish for judgement by the hand of my King,” he said, “I wish to die by her blade, for my damnation by her hands.” With that, Lancelot turned swiftly on his heel and walked off.

Diarmuid thought that was the most eloquent declaration of suicidal intent that he had heard in his entire life. Mildly concerned for Lancelot’s safety, he followed after him.

“Lancelot,” he called after him, but couldn’t quite catch up to him. He almost ran into him when he stopped suddenly in the street.

“If you are going to offer me empty words to placate my sorrows, do not bother. My actions have caused the destruction of a place I held dear for most of my life and caused irrevocable harm to someone I cared about. I single-handedly destroyed Camelot, pitying words will not bring it back,” Lancelot didn’t turn around to look at him, his shoulders bunched around his neck, fists shaking by his sides. “History will never again look upon anyone so retched in their actions. I am alone in how much suffering I caused to the people around me.”

He felt that with every word, Lancelot said he plucked a string to his own heart, strumming the tune to his own sorrow. It’s like the man reached into his mind and pulled his darkest insecurities out like scrolls and read them to a chapel.

“I understand,” Diarmuid said.

Lancelot whipped around to him, almost angry with how his voice shook, “How could you possibly--”

“You have this person who you’ve spent the majority of your life around, fighting alongside them, practically being their right-hand man, and you feel like they're closer to you than most of the family that you’ve had in your life. You have family, sure, but they’ve mostly been fairies up until this point, and as such, you didn’t really and still don’t really know what actual human interaction was like, but they were patient with you and taught you, accepted you into their lives with open arms. You felt _safe,_ like you actually belong somewhere for the first time in your life. People liked you, and you liked them, and you liked that they liked you, and you were so _desperate_ to keep ahold of that. Then suddenly, a woman comes along, she’s betrothed to this person that you love more than life. Still, you elope with her which may not have been healthy now that you think about it,” Diarmuid took a deep breath, he had been talking for a long time but now he had _someone_ to let this out to, someone who could even understand a _fraction_ of what he went through, well it was like a damn burst forth. He kept talking, “You’ve now fundamentally betrayed this person that you care about so much, and it physically _hurts_ that you're doing this to him, but now you don’t have a choice. Your actions tear apart the group you loved so much, and you’re forced to fight them. You can’t even use your relationship as a place of rest because it was almost immediately soured by the actions both of you took to get there, and her trauma response that made her prone to manipulation. You’re trying to make up for what you’ve done. Even after he graciously forgave you, there’s no possible way that things could go back to what they were. Something’s sullied now, a tension lies beneath all the people who you’ve grown so close to, and you don’t know how to get rid of it. You try to make up for it, be the best knight you can be, but it does nothing to take away what’s been broken, what _you_ broke.” Diarmuid couldn’t bear to look Lancelot in the eye during all this but now brought his gaze to him, “So, yeah, Lancelot. I think I understand what you’re going through.”

Lancelot looked like a grand revelation had overtaken his face. Confusion, sorrow, and happiness all seemed to be swirling in those dark eyes of his.

It was funny how similar their two situations were. It was like fate had decided to throw him a bone. She kept doing unspeakably cruel things to him but also gave him someone to share and to ease in his suffering. For some reason, with only the knowledge of what the Grail told him, he assumed that Lancelot would have been unbothered by his actions, even while knowing how Diarmuid’s own actions affected him. It took meeting the man and hearing it from his own mouth to realize they were one and the same. To hear someone else go through what he did, well, that made him feel a little less alone and desolate.

“I suppose you do,” Lancelot chuckled quietly. “I thought myself to be alone for the longest time. Even among company, I often felt a wide chasm of experiences prevented me from truly connecting with someone. I’m… glad that I have someone who can bridge that void.”

Diarmuid then decided to pull one of the boldest moves he’s done in his entire life (well, entire life as a Servant anyway), he reached forward and grasped Lancelot’s hands, clasping it in both of his own. The look of shock on Lancelot’s face was actually kind of adorable, his mouth gaped open slightly and a soft blush dawned his cheeks.

“I can’t offer you much,” Diarmuid said, “But I can promise you won’t be alone any longer. Amilia is a good master who tries her best, even if she’s a bit clumsy with it, Rika’s a good lad who always tries to help, and I--” he squeezed his hand, “I will always be here if you need me.”

Lancelot’s eyes shone. “Thank you, Diarmuid, I appreciate that.”

They walked back to the hotel, with Lancelot actually opening up and telling Diarmuid a bit about Guinivere and how they came about. Somehow, they had ended up where they were casually holding hands, and Diarmuid was terrified of calling attention to it lest it stopped, so he had to just act like this was perfectly normal.

“--The culmination of these concerns reached a head when my… when one of our knights left us, saying ‘the king does not understand others feelings.’ That made me think that Arthur was carrying too much weight on his own shoulders. I wanted to relieve him of that. I’m using ‘he’ because that’s what I thought her to be, of course,” Lancelot took a deep breath and sighed it out, “That’s when I started meeting with Lady Guinivere. I thought she, of all people, would know where the King would need help and how best to help him. Eventually, she told me of the king's true gender, which added a layer of nuance I had not previously considered. We started meeting in private, not for any nefarious reasons, but because we didn’t want word to get back to Arthur and her to tell us to stop. We developed a genuine friendship, we talked about how best to assist Arthur, of course. Still, we would also talk about other things: daily going on’s in the castle, new squires and what we thought would be the best fit for them, what new foods Gawain absolutely butchered,” He actually laughed a little at that, which made Diarmuid irrationally happy, “We met like this for about, a year or two. I do not know when exactly in this time frame I fell for her, but I knew when she fell asleep on my shoulder one night, and I had the irrational urge to stop time so I would never have to move from that spot, that I was in love with her.” His eyes were more sad than nostalgic, but he also seemed like he was talking about the events before a catastrophe. “I resolved to never tell her of this. I would keep my feelings to myself and carry on like I usually did, though now with an added guilt of feeling like I was doing something wrong. Which I was,” he said, almost chastising himself, “I should have cut contact when I knew, but I am a weak man with weak resolutions, and when she professed her love to me in kind I couldn’t find it in my heart to deny her...” He trailed off as they approached the hotel. Obviously, there was more to the story than that, but Diarmuid didn’t dare push him further than he already had tonight. Lancelot looked down and seemed to realize they were holding hands, though surprisingly not throwing away his grip like Diarmuid expected, but gently detangled his fingers and brought them back to his side. The sun had well set at this point, the street lamps hid all but the brightest of stars, and left in their wake a pitch black sky. Diarmuid had a pinch of anxiety for leaving their Master alone for so long, but tried to shake it off as they entered.

They made their way up to the room in comfortable silence, Diarmuid experimenting slightly by leaning close to Lancelot, brushing shoulders to gauge how comfortable with contact he was. Lancelot would gaze at where they were connected, but didn’t shy away from the contact.

Diarmuid had always been an extremely affectionate person, even as a child. He knew this because Donn would go on rants when he was younger that he “Just didn’t know what to do with a boy like that,” and that “Aenghus was the only person who could teach him to deal with something like this,” To which said man would laugh and pat Diarmuid on the head. That was the reason Donn sought out his other father in the first place, to help take care of little Diarmuid. Hugs, back pats, piggyback rides, even just sitting close to one another is all stuff that kept Diarmuid comfortable. He felt himself being drawn towards Lancelot and wanted to give him the same treatment that came so naturally to him, but he felt like the man would be uncomfortable with it if he went too far. So he subtly tested what would be alright with him, and it seemed that he was okay with anything so long as Lancelot himself didn’t initiate it too much. Which was fine, Diarmuid was more of a giver anyways.

They walked back into the room to find Amilia had fixed it for the most part. She was awake and alert now, going around the room straightening small things. Her luggage was also sitting out, and items would be loaded into it periodically. She turned when the door opened.

“Glad you’re back! Where’d y'all go?”

Rika had also woken up from his nap and was by the stove, heating up some water to make tea with. Diarmuid thought he looked a bit better, but there was obviously still a tension underneath his shoulders. He’d have to keep an eye on him.

“Just walked around,” Diarmuid said to Amilia.

“That’s nice,” she said, distracted, “So since the Berserker problem--” she pointed to Lancelot for emphasis, “--is now moot, I’m thinking we head over to Fuyuki?”

“Is there something significant about Fuyuki?” Lancelot asked, to which Rika whipped around and exclaimed:

“That's what I’ve been saying!”

“I’ve _explained_ this!” Amilia whipped right around to him too, implying they’ve been having this conversation for a while, “Past battles have been in Fuyuki, that means the people who know about the war will most likely go _to Fuyuki_. If they know about the war, that means they sought out a Servant willingly. If they willingly sought out a Servant, that means they _specifically_ want to ask the Grail for something. Hence! Those people fighting in Fuyuki are fighting the hardest to obtain the Grail because they have a specific goal in mind!”

Rika turned to Lancelot, “Did you follow that?”

Lancelot tilted his head up for a moment, thinking, “Since Fuyuki is essentially familiar battlegrounds, those who already know about the Grail war will go there out of habit. If they know about the War, they researched it, if they researched it that means they have a specific wish they’re seeking out, and they wanted more information about the Grail. One can assume those with the most knowledge about the War have the most intense wishes. Thus you’ll see more intense fighting in the familiar battlegrounds as they have more personal stakes in the matter. I believe I understand.”

Amilia waved a finger around and tossed some more clothes into her bag, “See! It’s not that confusing!”

“Okay, well, he explained it entirely differently than you did!” Rika exclaimed, following her around as she picked up clothes. 

“You just weren’t paying attention!” she threw over her shoulder.

Diarmuid laughed and leaned into Lancelot. “Things are lively, aren't they?” he asked.

Lancelot, sort of perplexed, merely nodded. Amilia went over to the nightstand drawer, picked her dagger out from it, and threw it into her luggage. That made Diarmuid remember something, and he went to pick it up.

“Wait, Amilia,” he said, which caused her to stop in her tracks.

“What did you just say?” she asked intensely.

“Wait?” he responded, now holding the dagger.

“Yeah, but you--” She stopped, and a big smile dawned on her face, “No, it’s nothing, do continue.”

“Make this a blade really quick,” he said and handed it to her.

She took it from him, eyes clouded in confusion, but gold currents hurried over the blade, and soon they were looking at a proper sword once more. Lancelot was not expecting this and walked over to look at the blade with interest.

“Does that look familiar to you?” Diarmuid asked, “It looks an awful lot like Saber’s sword, but I wasn’t sure.”

Lancelot looked to Amilia in silent permission to take the blade, to which she complied. He turned it over, examining it.

“Saber’s sword… like Excalibur?” Amilia asked, looking between the two men.

No one answered her for a moment, Diarmuid looking at Lancelot for answers and Lancelot looking for those answers in the blade. “It does look similar to it,” Lancelot admitted, “But no, I do not think so. However--” he brought it up, looking at the jewel on the hilt, “Granted, I have not seen the actual blade, but my first thought was that it could be Caliburn.”

“What’s Caliburn?” Amilia asked, again neither man answered.

“Are you sure?” Diarmuid clarified, “I thought that blade was lost?”

“It was, but--” Lancelot stepped away from the two of them and started testing the blade's balance, doing little maneuvers with it, parrying and stabbing. “The blades have been said to look similar to one another, and I have grown acquainted with Excalibur.” Satisfied with how the blade performed, he took to looking at it again, “I’m sure that this is the blade.”

Amilia stomped over to Lancelot and started lightly thumping her fists against Lancelot’s arm. Confused as to what she was doing, he brought his arm up to keep her at bay, not that he really needed to defend against her.

“Can you please explain what the hell you two are talking about?” she pouted, “I don’t know what’s going on!”

“Ah, my apologies,” Lancelot said, handing her the blade back. Curiously, he brought his hand up to ruffle her hair, which distracted Amilia enough that she forgot she was ignored. “Caliburn is the sword in the stone.”

“I thought that was Excalibur?” she said, looking up at him.

“No, my mother gave that sword to Arthur,” Lancelot clarified.

“Wait--” The gears in Amilia’s head were turning, “They’re two separate swords?”

“Yes, Caliburn is the Sword in the Stone, the one that granted Arthur kingship in the first place, and Excalibur is the Sword of Promised Victory, gifted to her by the Lady in the Lake.” She nodded, slowly getting it, “And this is Caliburn,” she said, bringing the blade up to show Lancelot.

“I believe so yes,” Lancelot talked to Amilia like she was a squire that he was tutoring, his tone taking on one of instruction. Their hair color were actually similar to one another, now that Diarmuid saw them side by side. If he didn’t know them, he could’ve almost mistaken them for father and daughter.

“Amilia, when did you obtain this blade?” Diarmuid asked. 

“I-I don’t know. I’ve had it all my life,” she said.

“Curious,” Lancelot commented.

“Are we done talking about confusing things?” Rika asked from the corner, having sat down on the couch.

“Yeah, I think so. But I’m kinda really confused now.” Amilia scratched her chin, “Why the heck do I have Caliburn?”

“Well, when you were little, you would go around saying weird things about being a King and stuff,” Rika stated.

Everyone turned to Rika, who was taken aback by the sudden attention.

“I did?” Amilia asked.

“Um, well yeah. When your dad first started bringing you around.” Rika put his hand on the back of his neck, “You don’t remember? You were really different back then. Kinda really stoic for a seven-year-old, and you were really flippant with your magic.” 

“I guess I don’t remember,” Amilia said, worried. Suddenly, she felt like there was this chunk out of her life she was missing, a piece that might hold the answers to a lot of things.

“You’d carry that dagger around everywhere,” Rika continued, “Got really mad if someone came near it. Then Annabelle challenged you, and it’s like you became a completely different person.”

“I remember how I met Annabelle,” she said, recalling how the girl came up to her, at ten years of age, and challenged her to a magic duel.

_I need people to know that what I have, I’ve earned by myself, not through what my family name has given me,_ she had said, _To beat the daughter of the man who took my family's place, that’ll surely do._ Right afterward, a blob of mercury had hit Amilia in the face.

Suddenly, in panic, she tried desperately to recall her actual childhood. She was somewhere, with other people before her father, what was that like? All she remembered were low murmuring voices and dark rooms. _Cold_ is all she could distinctly remember. Her father… she had been cold when she met him too. Amilia wrapped her hands around herself, knuckles digging into her biceps as she started shivering like her body was reenacting what her mind couldn’t remember. He had been the first warm thing she had ever touched. She remembers cigarette smoke and a scarf being wrapped around her. But not how she had gotten there.

“I don’t remember,” she said, now scared.

“Hey,” Lancelot interjected, attempting to make eye contact, “It’s okay. The human brain is a fickle thing; there are countless reasons why it would forget something like that. Mostly, it might be that your current life was deemed more important to it.”

That didn’t really help the feeling that a chunk had been cut out with a knife, but she appreciated Lancelot trying to help.

“What would I say?” she said to Rika. Apparently, he remembered more of what she was like than she did currently. 

He scrunched his face up, trying to remember, “I don’t know, kinda stuff like ‘I am to inherit rule of this land’ and stuff. Just kinda quirky stuff, but my parents always chalked it up to weird girl syndrome. But like… I started hanging around you because of that. Like you just seemed like someone to follow, so I did.”

This she remembered too. “You’d always follow me around everywhere like a little stalker,” she said, remembering small Rika always looking at her from around corners. He didn’t actually start talking to her until after Annabelle did. Why couldn’t she remember how _she_ was acting in these instances?

“What the hell’s going on?” she mumbled.

“Well, your father would know, wouldn’t he?” Diarmuid imputed, “And we’re going to find him, so we can ask him once we do.”

That actually did serve to make Amilia feel better. Of course, Dad would remember how they met! She would ask him for sure.

She nodded, “Yes, I’ll ask him!” She kept nodding, “Yeah. So we really need to go to Fuyuki then. We need to get going!”

Rika got a slightly panicked look on his face at that. “Um, yeah, about that.”

Amilia, having already started gathering her things again, turned back to him, “Hm?”

“Amilia, you said that the fighting will be more intense at Fuyuki, right?”

Amilia nodded, her stomach sinking, already knowing where this would go, but wanting Rika to say it.

“Amilia, I’m sorry. I really thought that even if I wouldn’t be a Master, I could still help by supporting you. But after what happened today, I just don’t know if I can do it.” He looked away from her, “That whole thing really shook a few things loose. I think I need to go home and try to recuperate for a bit. I’m sorry.”

Amilia walked over to him and crouched down, looking up at him and putting her hands on his knees. He looked at her sadly.

“Don’t even worry about that. Your mental health is a thousand times more important than how you can ‘help’ me. You’ve already done more than enough. You deserve to rest.”

“I just feel like I’m abandoning you. I want to feel like I’m contributing.”

“You can help me by making sure I have a friend to return home to,” she told him earnestly, “I don’t want to bring you along if it’s going to give you burnout and make you miserable.” She tilted her head, “Okay? Don’t feel guilty.”

Rika wiped away a tear that slipped down his face, and he sniffled, “Okay, yeah. I’ll make sure everything’s as you left it.”

“I expect nothing less.” With that, she leaned forward and gave him a hug. Rika clutched at her shirt and buried his head into her shoulder, trying to not cry. 

“I just don’t know…” he trailed off, “What I’m _supposed_ to do.”

Diarmuid walked forward and placed a hand on Rika’s head. Lancelot was left a few feet away, feeling slightly out of place because he didn’t know the boy that well, but feeling for his struggle nonetheless.

“You’ll have time to figure it out. But recovery isn’t the time to let others put expectations on you.”

Rika nodded and just clung to Amilia for a few more moments.

They left Rika in the hotel room. He said he had enough to cover the room, so don’t worry about it, but of course, Amilia wouldn’t let that stand and paid for the rest of the week, as well as any room service he needed. Rika was going to stay for a couple more days before going back home. Already, the tension that seemed to pull his shoulders taut had ebbed away for the most part, and as the others packed away their stuff, he laughed and joked with them much more easily. 

And then there were three. Amilia tried to rent a car, but every time she tried to get someone on the phone, they wouldn’t believe that she could pay until finally she thrust the phone in Lancelot’s direction and gave him her credit card. Lancelot didn’t know what to do, but Diarmuid could walk him through the process, (so one servant receives specific knowledge but not the other?). After a bit of fumbling, finally, they went in and obtained the vehicle. Lancelot was in the driver's seat, Diarmuid in shotgun, placing Amilia in the back. She was worried for a moment, but apparently _driving_ a car is relevant Grail knowledge (seriously, why was there no rhyme or reason for this?). Lancelot pulled out of the cark park like it was the most natural thing in the world for him. It was late at night when they started driving towards the airport.

Amilia tried to stay alert and engage with the other two people in the car, but she felt her eyelids getting heavy between everything that day. She unbuckled her seatbelt, which Lancelot almost commented on until he saw her lying down, tucking her legs underneath her. He reached behind to give her a pat on her head. Amilia tried to keep her eyes open as much as possible, staring out of the window from her vantage point. There was the soft pale yellow glow that only cities get at night, starkly contrasted with how dark the car was, interspersed by the light of the console, and a stillness she could practically touch. She looked between the two men in the front seat, only vague silhouettes in the darkness. Diarmuid, as he talked, his hair lock bobbed, and Lancelot with hair that flowed like silk whenever he shifted. She couldn’t see their faces well but could hear them talking familiarly. She felt a comfort she realized she hadn’t felt in a while, surprised by the fact that she felt safe. And so, between the streetlights intermittently flashing on her face, and the soft murmuring of the two men’s voices, she felt her eyes droop and drift shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diarmuid and Lancelot talk, realize they have a lot in common, who would've thought?
> 
> Also, I did have Rika leave, for the time being, but I do have plans to bring him back
> 
> Which leads to this question: I had half of an idea to bring Rika back, but having him transition from a guy to a girl, not necessarily because of the trauma, but she would then be discovering what exactly she wants from her life, and coming back into the Grail war with a new understanding of who she is. It is just an idea, so let me know what you guys think! Leave a comment, or my Tumblr is bi-life-its-my-life if you want to leave me an ask there.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and leave a comment letting me know what you thought!
> 
> Edit: I realized I never had Amilia introduce herself, so just a small add in for that lol


	9. She Dreamed of Flowers

_She awoke in a field of pink flowers, the scent of which was always something she remembered while she was here, but never when she was awake. She was sleeping, of course, she always knew when she was asleep, but she also knew that this place was real. She stood up, seeing a familiar tower in the middle of the field. She made her way towards it. She always walked, no matter how many times she’s come here, she always made the entire trek up the tower. She does so again now, knocking on the small door that leads into the only room in the building. She heard a soft voice telling her to come in, which she does._

_She finds him sitting on an ottoman in front of a mirror, brushing his long white hair. The two butterfly ear ornaments he usually wore lay side by side on the dresser in front of him. He makes eye contact in the mirror and gestures to a similar ottoman next to him, smiling. She complies, sitting down and tucking her feet onto the seat, resting her head on her knees as she watched him go through his routine._

_All her life, he had refused to give her his name, only referring to himself as ‘The Mage of Flowers,’ to which her younger self had started calling him ‘Flowers,’ and she couldn’t bring herself to break the habit. She had tried calling him ‘Mage’ once, but he pouted like a child until she stopped._

_Flowers turned to her, holding up the brush._

_“Can I brush your hair?” he said, smiling._

_She nodded, also smiling, and turned around._

_They sat like that for a little bit, Flowers humming slightly as he ran the brush through her hair softly. It never hurt when he did it, and she often enjoyed these sessions, though she questioned why her dream self needed to brush her hair. Eventually, he spoke again:_

_“I see you’ve become a Master,” he commented, tapping on her shoulder._

_Amilia brought up her command seals, nodding slightly but not saying anything._

_“And two servants too! Such an amazing young mage you are. Who are they?”_

_“Diarmuid and Lancelot,” she replied._

_“Lancelot?” he said, not commenting on the first name, “That’s good. He’ll be a good fit for you, I can tell. I’m glad you two found each other,” he said almost sadly._

_She turned around, pulling her head away from the brush to make proper eye contact with him. Flowers looked surprised for a moment before setting the brush down and waiting for her to ask her question._

_“Flowers, do you know why I have the sword I do?” she asked._

_“What sword?” he said, playing dumb._

_Sighing, she conjured a projection of the blade so he couldn’t beat around the bush like he usually does, practically forcing it into his face._

_“_ This _one,” she said, “Lancelot said it might be Caliburn, is that true? Why did I talk about being a King when I was younger?”_

_“Cause you are,” Flowers said plainly, waving away the projection, and only answering one question vaguely, she noticed._

_“I am?”_

_“Do you not remember?” He then thought for a moment, “No, I suppose I don’t blame you for forgetting.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_Flowers reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Amilia, the people you were with before were not kind to you. If your mind has forced those memories out of your consciousness, I do not have the heart to bring them back. It’s my fault anyway that you were there in the first place. Or rather, I started the chain of events that lead you there.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_Flowers put a finger to his lips, “Another day perhaps.”_

_Whenever he said that that means Amilia would never hear about it again. Amilia groaned in frustration and stood up directly on the ottoman, forcing Flowers to look up at her._

_“Then, please, at least tell me what I’m a King of!”_

_Flowers didn’t respond for a moment, seemingly to be genuinely thinking of an answer. Finally, he said, “There was a time that there was a clear answer to that, but not anymore. I suppose the only thing I can offer you now is that you can be King of anything you want.”_

_“Can you give me a direct answer to anything?” she said_

_“No, absolutely not. What fun would that be?” Flowers laughed. “You would have no room to grow, nothing to look forward to.”_

_“I don’t remember being here anyway,” she reminded him._

_“Yes, but it might lurk around in your subconscious, indirectly leading you to the answer.” he wiggled his fingers. “That’s how you learn magic from me, after all.”_

_“True…” she said, but couldn’t help the annoyance she felt._

_Flowers watched her for a moment before bringing her in for a bear hug. He was mostly fabric as he wrapped his arms around her, swinging her about, she could tell there was a lithe frame underneath all that robe. She sighed, allowing herself to be held._

_“I will tell you this, Amilia,” he said, patting her head. “You don’t know how happy it makes me that I can talk with you like this. The others would only demand magical secrets out of me, and that got so boring after a while,” he sighed, resting his chin on her head._

_She questioned what ‘others’ he referred to, but she felt that related back to one of her earlier questions._

_“You’ve always been there for me, thank you,” she said, feeling the need to apologize after her earlier outburst._

_Flowers held her out at arm’s length, “Aww, thank you!” he beamed. “That makes me so happy!”_

_Amilia turned away, slightly embarrassed by the doting. Flowers started pinching her cheeks until she swatted his hands away, a small smile gracing her lips._

_“Just for that, I will say this,” he said, “Your sword, Caliburn, is said to be the weaker of the twin blades, but that was because Caliburn was never utilized properly. Arturia was a lot of amazing things, but she was never one to rely on the strength of those around her. That’s where the sword's true power lies,” He looked severe while he said this, so she knew that it wasn’t a joke._

_“But I won’t remember that!” She almost whined._

_“Ah, yes,” he scratched his head, “Well, if you see me, you’ll remember everything. And I’ve taken to the Earth in a similar fashion to your heroes, despite my entrapment here.”_

_“You’re a servant?” she asked._

_“Yes!” he put his hands on his hips, “I’m an Assassin, can you believe it?”_

_Amilia stared blankly._

_“Man, you’re just like how she was with jokes sometimes,” he mumbled, “Yes, of course, I’m a Caster,” he said louder._

_“Ah!” Amilia said, getting the joke._

_“So--”_

_Then, all of a sudden, the room seemed to be filling with black specks, blotting out like a burning picture. Black tar started to seep from the walls and the ceiling, and distantly Amilia thought she could hear distorted laughing. Amilia hurried over to Flowers’ side._

_“Flowers, what is that?”_

_“What?” he said, sounding confused, “What do you see?”_

_“I--”_

_Hands started breaking through the floor, tiny, tiny little human hands that dropped her heart right into her stomach. They scratched at the floor, searching for something, and they were getting closer. She screwed her eyes shut and shoved her face into Flowers’ robes, trying to block it out._

_“Flowers, make it stop!” she screamed into the fabric._

_Flowers brought her out from her hiding spot and cupped her face, making a couple of hand signals while doing so. He hummed._

_“The Grail is calling you,” he said._

_“Why?” she said shrill._

_“Amilia, don’t be scared, you’re alright.”_

_The hands had gotten to Flowers, and bit by bit, his form was being torn away. He held her face and didn’t look away from her._

_“This is still just a dream, no matter what happens. You’ll wake up, don’t worry. I’ll find you.”_

_His voice was getting so far away, she tried to reach out but felt her hands grasping at air. Already she felt the memory of him fade from her mind, and to her, that was more frightening than whatever horror she was falling towards now. Because she was falling, now, towards something inexplicable or ordinary, she didn’t know which._

_“You’re okay.”_

_Was the last echoed voice she heard before she dropped down onto the bed._

_She sat up quickly, not sure how she got here. She remembered black ink, but that was really it. She grasped at the bedsheets underneath her. They were of fantastic quality, similar to her bed at home, but made differently. The bedposts extended to the ceiling and dawned curtains to block it off from the rest of the room. Gingerly, she climbed out of bed and found a window that was obstructed by snow. However, as she watched, the snow would clip almost, revealing the falling white speaks as black petals of ash. She turned back to the room, which started clipping too, sometimes being a fancy master bedroom, sometimes being the same bedroom, but desolate, torn to shreds as if it had been abandoned for years._

_“Hello.” Came a voice from behind her, Amilia whipped around quickly to face it. “I’m glad you came.”_

_It was a woman, around her height, wearing a long white dress with golden accented cuffs. Her hair was as white as snow, and her red eyes immediately caught Amilia’s attention._

_“I--” She was going to say,_ I don’t think I had a choice, _but felt that to be rude, “I’m glad to be here,” she said instead. “But_ why _am I here?”_

_“You’re here because I need you to be. There’s something I need to tell you.” The woman sighed before walking up to the side of the bed and crawling inside, tucking herself into a fetal position, gently stroking the sheets. “It’s so hard,” she lamented, “I’m trying to do my best with this, but it’s so hard.”_

_Amilia went to sit by the edge of the bed, unsure if reaching out would be the right move here._

_“I had to get them all out before I could even think of doing it, there was just so much going on.” The woman continued, “Too much, too much clutter. You can’t clean if there’s clutter.”_

_“Are you talking about Servants?” Amilia asked, half-guessing._

_“Yes, the servants. The servants, the servants, always the servants… The others too, the ones that were affected. Had to reset everything.”_

_This woman was only half making sense. Amilia wasn’t really sure what she was talking about. Cleaning? Resetting?_

_“What do you need to tell me?” Amilia asked._

_The room glitched again, and the woman seemingly was unaffected, until she looked up at Amilia with malice in her face._

_“You think you’re doing_ so _well, trying to make them comfortable, make them feel loved. It won’t work, it never worked.”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_“They’ll fall, they’ll fall. Old patterns, same patterns. They’ll do the same things they did in death as they did in life. You cannot change that. I--”_

_She glitched again, this time she convulsed in pain, Amilia climbing onto the bed and gently holding her shoulders._

_The woman screamed, throwing herself violently, “She’s trying to...but I can’t let her. This needs to stop,” she was crying now, “This all needs to stop, something, something was corrupted when I brought him back. Need to, need to fix it. Child, you--”_

_She glitched again._

_“You’ll try and try and try but you won’t be able to do it,” she gave off a pained laugh, “You’ve been trying for years, and this is the farthest you’ve gotten. You’ve thrown everything out of whack, didn’t you? Stupid bitch.”_

_“What do you mean?” Amilia gently shook her, but she didn’t seem to be listening._

_Suddenly, the woman latched onto Amilia’s shoulders with force, and Amilia didn’t know if this was the friendly or mean version._

_“Child, listen to me,” she said, Amilia assumed nice, “Fight it, fight it with all your might. Fate will try to make you retread ground, but you mustn't let it. Nothing is set in stone, but it is set in the divots in an old dirt road. You can change it, but fate is stuck in its ways sometimes. If you love them, then surely, yes, it should be possible. Then it’ll make it easier, you can give them a chance again. You have the power to change everything.”_

_Amilia visibly saw the change in her face this time, the face of a scared, grieving woman twisted into something more malicious, an evil sneer stretching her lips. The woman brought her hands from around Amilia’s shoulders to around her neck, squeezing. Amilia grabbed the arm._

_“They’re ghosts, ghosts, and ghosts repeat the last moments of their life over and over again.” Curiously, pink petals started to fall around the two of them in the room, and as the woman talked and tightened her grip, so did they continue to fall, eventually becoming a storm of scented flowers, “They’re doomed to repeat the legends that they’ve come from. No matter where they are or who they’re with, they will always fall to their same follies. This is their fate, what they get from being entrusted in my care. You’ll fail and then you’ll be brought to me.”_

_The woman’s form was now obstructed with flowers; the room no longer visible in the sea of petals. Amilia felt herself sinking into them and scrambled to find purchase. It dragged her in like quicksand, and as it overtook her head, she swallowed some and started choking. Further and further in, she fell, darkness consuming her. She closed her eyes, not bothering to fight it._

_Then, a hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes to find herself sitting at a circular table. People in armor sat in each of the seats, talking to each other, sparing a glance in her way occasionally. A man, not adorning armor and not sitting, looks over at her and waves. She turned to see where the pressure on her shoulder was coming from._

_She found Lancelot looking down at her, eyes concerned, a tall woman peering over his shoulder._

_“Amilia, wake up,” Lancelot said. “We’re here.”_

_She almost questioned him, until suddenly this setting was ripped from her as well, waking up finally._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream sequence! There will be more of these in the future, Amilia being thrown into Lancelot and Diarmuid's past against her will, but this is the first start of it. The corrupted Grail is supposed to be fighting with Iriseiviel in her sequence, but I don't know if I want to tag her just because I don't know how reoccurring I want her to be? Maybe I'll bring her in more if people want to see it.  
> Let me know what you think! This chapter was a bit shorter, but the next one will be longer don't worry.
> 
> My blog is bi-life-its-my-life if you want to leave an ask there too lol


	10. Who Lives Who Dies Should Stay Dead, Actually

She woke with a start, batting away at the form that leaned over her before she remembered where she was. She sat up, blinking blearily at Lancelot, who straightened up, holding the door open for her.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah…” she said, rubbing her eye, “Weird dream.” She clambered out of the car. They were in the car park of the airport now. Diarmuid stood a few feet away, carrying one of their bags in his hand. Lancelot took up the other.

She debated on what exactly to tell them. On the one hand, she didn’t want to keep anything from them; on the other, telling them, ‘Yeah, the Grail says you're doomed to repeat your legends,’ wouldn’t be suitable for their mental states. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Diarmuid asked as they made their way towards the entrance.

She decided to tell them about the woman, talking about ‘cleaning’ and whatnot regarding the servants.

“Maybe that’s why the Grail war is the way it is,” Diarmuid commented.

“Yeah, I think so too,” Amilia said. “But then I had a second dream, though it was short.” She turned to Lancelot, “I think I dreamed of the Round Table.”

“Oh?” he asked. They reached the airport proper at this point and were now walking through to their flight.

She then started describing the different people she saw in the dream, and Lancelot got paler and paler as she went on. She then brought up the man who wasn’t sitting in a seat.

“You’ve just described a good chunk of the Round Table knights, as well as Merlin,” he said, “You’ve never seen them before, so how?”

“I don’t know…” She then thought of the woman behind Lancelot and described her to him. She had a suspicion of who she was, but seeing how Lancelot’s face both twisted in grief and recognition confirmed it for her.

“That would be Guinivere,” he said.

“Yeah…” Which was all she could say.

Diarmuid drifted over to Lancelot and put an arm around his shoulder, and the man seemed to lean into the embrace. Amilia was surprised but honestly quite relieved. She was afraid her servants wouldn’t get along with each other, but it seemed her fears were unfounded. She watched as Diarmuid leaned over and whispered something into Lancelot’s ear, to which the man nodded subtly.

They made their way through the airport, finally finding their flight and setting down their stuff to board. She thought they’d just be sitting until their flight came up, but Diarmuid pulled her away from Lancelot for a moment.

“What is it?” she asked.

“We need to keep an eye on Lancelot,” he said in a low voice.

She looked back at him. He seemed to be reading a brochure that was lying on the table, “Because he might go back into Mad Enhancement?” 

“Well, that too. But… we got to talking earlier, and I’m afraid Lancelot’s expressed thoughts of suicide.”

Her stomach dropped as she continued watching him. “What did he say exactly?”

“He said he wants his King to punish him for his betrayal.”

“So nothing about him doing it himself?” She led them over to a small airport cafe and bought herself a sandwich and a drink, so it wasn’t them just standing there. She sipped it as they slowly made their way back.

“No, not by his hand.”

“Well, that means we have to keep him away from Arturia for the time being. I don’t think he would be in the proper mental state to see her.”

Diarmuid nodded, though looked almost surprised at the prospect of not seeing Arturia, “Yes, I suppose that makes sense.”

She looked between the two people, “You two have similar situations, but he seems to be slightly more unstable when it comes to it, judging by his class alone.” She poked Diarmuid, “He seems to like you, so I ask you to help where I cannot.”

He scoffed, “I planned on that anyway.” Then seemed to fully process the first part of that sentence, “You think he likes me?”

Before she could answer, the com came on, stating that their flight was boarding. Lancelot started looking around for them, so they made their way back over to him. They made their way up to check-in but found that Lancelot had been upgraded without their knowledge. They were already flying business because Amilia wanted some form of anonymity, but somebody had bumped Lancelot to first class. He looked at the receptionist for a solid minute before talking to her.

“Can my husband and sister board as well?” he asked, gesturing to the two of them. 

Diarmuid went red in the face, ears burning, almost sputtering. He pointed between him and Lancelot before altogether giving up, turning around to hide his embarrassment. Amilia merely watched on in full amusement, though slightly liking the ‘sister’ label.

The receptionist got that look that straight people get, one where you can fully hear her thinking, “Oh! This is one of _them_!” like she had not expected a wild gay to be standing in front of her. Her voice jumped ten octaves and attempted to sound as friendly as possible, no doubt to give the impression that she’s one of the ‘good ones,’ “Of _course_! Yes, of _course,_ your husband and sister can board, right this way!” She stood up like she was personally going to chauffeur them back but realized her job was to sit there, so she sat back down again, “I’ll update your ticket right here, don’t worry!” she waved them through.

“Thank you,” Lancelot said, bowing before heading back, and you could tell he was oblivious to that entire display. Diarmuid ducked his head and followed him, with Amilia trailing along behind in amusement.

And then they were sitting in first class. Diarmuid and Lancelot were seated next to each other, Diarmuid still recovering from earlier, red cheeks and furrowed brows, sparing a glance in Lancelot’s direction every once in a while. The man was entirely oblivious and was now flipping through the dinner options as if it was the most exciting thing in the world. Amilia almost laughed out loud at how ridiculous they looked.

Suddenly, Diarmuid turned to Lancelot fully, tapping him on the shoulder. Lancelot looked over with raised eyebrows.

“What was that earlier?” he asked.

“What was what?” Lancelot sounded genuinely confused.

“What you said to ah--well you told her that--we uhm...” Diarmuid trailed off, staring at Lancelot, who was still thoroughly not getting what he did. 

“What?”

“Nevermind.” Diarmuid took to staring out a window.

“Okay?” Lancelot took to rereading his catalog, gears making smoke in his head.

“You called him your husband.” Amilia helpfully interjected.

Lancelot snapped up, _finally_ getting what he did. “Well, that was!” he put down the catalog, Diarmuid now watching with interest, “Well, I figured she’d let us back if we connected in some way, but I didn’t want to give Amilia the relationship label because that just seemed weird so I just said she was my sister, which left you…” Lancelot trailed off, staring at Diarmuid, whose ears were blazing again. He took to wrapping himself in his own arms. “I...just said it,” he finished.

“It’s okay,” Diarmuid almost squeaked.

This was the funniest thing she’d seen all day by god, they were so _awkward._ An equally awkward silence fell on them for a time, which Amilia drank up. They pointedly did not look at each other for a while after that. 

They sat like that for a bit, and Amilia’s mind started to wander, thinking about the people in her dream. Was that woman who was the Grail just some manifestation, or was it an actual person? The people of the Round Table, what were they like? She remembered a tall man with a mop of golden hair and striking blue eyes, another with long fiery red hair, one with a horned helmet. She started tapping on the side of her chair. A man with long brown hair, curly and messy, tied back with a braid...She focused on the details of this man for a moment. Tall, very tall. He was towering above the others even as he sat. She opened her eyes, not realizing she had closed them.

“Lancelot,” she asked, finally breaking the silence. Both men turned to her, eager for a distraction, “Was there a really tall, brunette man who was a Round Table knight?”

Lancelot looked shocked, and for a moment, she didn’t think he would answer. He turned to the side, cupping his face in his hand, “Yes, I believe you speak of Galehaut,” he mumbled.

She didn’t think she heard of a Galehaut in what little she knew of the legends, “What was he like?”

He frowned, still not looking back at them. Diarmuid leaned forward, trying to make eye contact.

“He was…” he trailed off, “A good man.” And he said nothing more of the subject.

Amilia so wanted to pry but felt it wasn’t the time for it. She didn’t know so much story could be packed into three little words.

A more solemn, oppressive silence fell over them at that point, and she decided to leave them to their thoughts. She dozed off a nondescript time after that, only to come back to consciousness whenever the plane would jolt. She never did sleep well with flights.

Eventually, she drew her attention back to her servants and found Diarmuid to be sleeping. She nudged Lancelot with her foot, who then jolted, looking at her. She pointed to the sleeping man.

“That’s… odd,” he said, “Servants don’t need to sleep.”

“Maybe he just wants to,” she said, and picked up an empty cup she got for water. Silently, she crept out of her seat and leaned over him, gently placing the cup over his head.

He mumbled a bit but didn’t wake up. Amilia looked at Lancelot, giving him the thumbs up and snickering, to which Lancelot gave a small smile. He picked up the catalog he had been reading and folded it, and placed it on his head as well. They both paused like a deer in headlights before cracking up again. Amilia looked around for something else she could balance and found a pencil in her pocket. Approaching Diarmuid again, she gently stuck it into his hair, which seemed to absorb it like a void. Lancelot grabbed his cup and placed it on top of hers. At that, Diarmuid did shift, sending all the stuff they piled into his lap, startling him awake. The two of them laughed as he looked around wildly before realizing what they were doing. He eventually joined too. Amilia noted the pencil was still stuck in his hair.

They all laughed before leaning back to rest again. This time, the silence was comfortable and friendly.

Their flight landed without much trouble, and Amilia led the trio down the streets of Fuyuki, intermittently looking at her phone, obviously leading them to a specific location.

They came up to a Japanese Minka, or mansion, as she had to google the term. It was a large house with sliding doors and traditional Japanese flooring, but that’s not why she chose this place. In the back, there was a hot spring that would be perfect for storing her origin in. She turned to her companions, who were looking at the place.

“Tada!” she said, “What do you guys think!”

“It’s impressive!” Diarmuid stated. He wiped at his forehead. Ever since they landed, Amilia thought he had gotten a bit paler but wasn’t sure if it was her seeing things.

She led them inside. Diarmuid hadn’t seen the slight step to get up to the main building, and as such, tripped a bit trying to enter. Lancelot caught him by the arm, hoisting him up. Amilia showed them the rooms.

“Take your pick!” she told them. 

The two of them seemed to not know what to do with this choice, both looking to and from each room, looking back at her like she was going to suggest they take that one. She was purposefully silent for it; she really wanted this choice to be theirs. Finally, they chose two rooms side-by-side to each other, in more of the building’s corner. The kitchen was right around the corner. She chose a place on the opposite side of the hallway for privacy's sake. 

“We’ll definitely have to go shopping to decorate it, but it’s nice in the meantime, right? Look, I even got futons to lay on the ground!” 

She showed them to each with excitement, Lancelot looking politely interested, taking his from her hands and feeling the fabric. Diarmuid was sort of spacing out looking at them, and she noticed he looked a little worse than before.

“Diarmuid, are you okay?” she asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. He was clammy and too warm to the touch.

He took a bit to answer, “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine,” he took the futon and hugged it to himself, “Is it hot in here?” he asked.

“No,” she said, now actually worried.

Lancelot set his futon down and put a hand on Diarmuid’s forehead, said man closing his eyes at the touch.

“He feels warm. Did something attack us?” he said.

“No, I don’t think so,” she recounted. The snake attack was against her. There was no way Diarmuid could vicariously get it, right?

“Here, Diarmuid, lie down,” Lancelot said, leading him into his newly picked room. Diarmuid didn’t fight him at all, practically collapsing when guided to lay down, breath coming in heavy bursts.

“I feel sick,” Diarmuid said, clutching his stomach.

“Shh,” Lancelot soothed, tucking the futon around him, “You’ll be okay. Just rest for now.”

Diarmuid nodded and closed his eyes.

“Diarmuid,” Amilia said, “I don’t have my origin loaded yet, but would you want to bathe in the pool?”

“It might make you feel better.” Lancelot patted him through the blanket.

Diarmuid brought the blanket further up, so only his curly hair and eyes could be seen. “No, the thought of getting up right now is terrible,” he mumbled. 

“Alright, maybe later then,” she said.

Diarmuid poked his head out to look at Amilia, “Can I have some soup?” He spoke in such a soft voice that Amilia’s heart ached.

“Yeah, I can get you some soup, buddy,” she said, motioning for Lancelot to follow.

She hadn’t been shopping yet, but now’s as good a time as any. As they left the room, they could hear Diarmuid coughing weakly. It sounded like a wet cough to her ears.

“What do you think is going on?” she asked Lancelot.

He scratched his head, “Had it been anyone else, I’d just say he had a fever and to take care of it for the next few days. But Servants don’t get sick.” 

“He was sleeping earlier,” she commented, “Do you think that may have something to do with it?”

“Maybe?” he said, “I honestly don’t know. I think we just need to take care of him and hope it goes away.”

“What if it doesn’t?” she said, panic rising.

Lancelot put a comforting hand on her shoulder, “Then we’ll deal with it then. In the meantime, our patient has requested soup.”

She nodded, focusing on the one thing she could do right now. The two of them went out to the local grocery market. She had a moment of culture shock, trying to figure out which things were what. Lancelot was able to help with the sign readings, thankfully.

“What soup would he want?” she asked Lancelot as she just started grabbing random items to put into the fridge.

“He needs something his stomach can handle,” Lancelot said. “Maybe something simple for now, like cabbage soup?”

“Cabbage?” she mumbled, wandering over to the produce section. Luckily, she was able to find some, and she picked up a random head to put into the cart. Lancelot quickly snatched it out again.

“Not that one,” he stated, putting it back.

“What’s wrong with that one?” she asked. 

He turned it as he explained, “The leaves are too loose on this one, and feel it,” he put it in her hands; it felt light, “A good cabbage should feel heavy for its size and have firm stems. This one feels like it's close to rotting.” He picked up a different cabbage and handed it to her. This one did feel pretty heavy, “This is a good one. Note how compact the head is.”

“You know your cabbages,” Amilia said, putting the correct cabbage into the cart.

Lancelot blinked, “You don’t _know_ a cabbage. It’s a series of characteristics that make it better to eat,” he said.

“You took that way too literally,” she said.

With their stuff in tow, they headed up to the front counter, where the cashier started packing it. Amilia slipped Lancelot the credit card. She felt like it would be weird if she paid for it. Luckily, he learned from last time and was able to pay with ease. The cashier looked up at them and smiled, saying something in Japanese. She really had to find a translator spell soon. She didn’t like being out of the loop. Lancelot responded with something, seemingly embarrassed, scratching the back of his head. Once all their stuff was bagged, they headed out, each carrying a sizable amount of groceries.

“What did that guy say?” she asked him.

“Oh, nothing,” he said, “I think he mistook us for siblings. He said, ‘It’s so nice to see the two of you shopping for family, your parents must be pleased.’”

She laughed, “That’s hilarious! I wonder why he thought that.”

“I’m not sure,” he said.

They made their way back to the house. Once they were inside, they practically dumped the groceries in the kitchen, Amilia immediately bringing out the ingredients to make the soup, and Lancelot checking up on Diarmuid.

He had retreated further underneath the covers, now only the top of his head could be seen from underneath the blanket. He shifted a bit when he heard someone come in.

“Hi,” he said in a groggy voice. He seemed to have gotten worse.

“Hey,” Lancelot said. He had filled up a small bowl with water and Amilia’s origin, which she described as water with healing properties. It gently shone in golden light, the likes of which he found strangely familiar. “We’re back. Amilia’s making soup.”

“Thank you,” he said. 

It was sort of cute how he poked his head out from underneath the covers, but that’s not what Lancelot should be focusing on right now.

“I brought a wet cloth,” he said, holding it up. 

Diarmuid emerged just enough to allow Lancelot to place it on his head, his fingers smoothing down the cloth on the sick man’s head. Diarmuid closed his eyes at the sensation. After making sure the cloth was on securely, Lancelot brushed his hair back from it so it wouldn’t stick to the man’s face. His hair was damp with sweat but still surprisingly soft, he found himself carting his fingers through it again and again. They sat there for a little while, Lancelot gently running his fingers through Diarmuid’s hair, the latter man sighing and leaning into the touch.

Amilia ruined the moment by barging in to say the soup was done, startling both men. She looked back and forth between them, a sly smile spreading across her lips. Lancelot struggled to keep a neutral expression.

Amilia _so_ wanted to comment on it, but felt like that would embarrass him too much. “Soup’s done,” she said, then left the room again.

He turned to Diarmuid, to apologize or to… he didn’t know, but he found him asleep. He gave a weak cough with every other breath, but other than that seemed to be resting soundly. Lancelot’s hand tingled where he had touched him. He brought it up to look at it as if he could spot the offending energy running through his fingers. Clenching his fist, he reluctantly got up.

Walking into the kitchen, the scent of cabbage was very strong. Amilia walked around, fussing about the rest of the groceries and whether Diarmuid would like the soup.

“Amilia, I think his taste buds will be too shot to actually taste anything.”

“I suppose you’re right,” then she looked at him quizzically, “Amilia?”

“Well, Diarmuid called you that, and I just assumed I could as well. Besides, it seems… weird to call you by a title for some reason. But I’ll stop if you wish.”

Amilia waved her hands, “No, no! I prefer Amilia, it was just such a hassle to get Diarmuid to call me that, I was just surprised you took to it right away. Nothing wrong!”

He nodded but didn’t respond. He supposed it was a bit informal to refer to someone who was over him in such a manner, but watching her fuss over soup and almost burn herself while trying to taste test the cabbage, he couldn’t quite bring himself to call her anything else. After the fifth attempt to taste test the cabbage, he walked over and confiscated her utensils.

“The soup is fine, go and give it to him.” He got out a bowl that was already in the cupboard and poured some soup in, handing it over.

“Ah, yes. Give the man the soup,” she said, carefully balancing it as she headed back to his room, softly repeating the sentence over and over.

Shaking his head, he followed her. Diarmuid had regained consciousness again and was blearily staring at the blank wall like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He turned when Amilia entered, eyes widening at the bowl.

“Soup?” he asked groggily.

“Soup,” she confirmed.

Lancelot brought out a small table that was in the closet, and set it over Diarmuid’s form, helping him up so he could eat. Amilia set the bowl down on it and watched nervously as Diarmuid stared down into it for a while.

“I can make something else?” she said.

Diarmuid shook his head, finally picking up the spoon, “No, this is wonderful, thank you Amilia.” He started to eat, slowly. 

Once he was done he gently pushed away from the table and laid down again, practically falling backward. Lancelot whisked the table away again, and when he turned around, Diarmuid was back asleep. Amilia brought the covers up around him, tucking him in. She motioned for Lancelot to slowly leave.

“He looks a bit better,” she said. “I cooked the soup with some of my origin, so maybe that’ll help.”

“Maybe,” Lancelot nodded, “I think we should try to get him to take a bath next.”

Amilia nodded too, “Speaking of, I should probably get my origin into the hot spring too.” She wandered off to her room after that, but poked her head out, “By the way, we still have to go clothes shopping for you don’t let me forget!”

Startled, he could only confirm with a nod. Looking around their new base? He wasn’t sure what to call it, but Amilia had been very kind to them so far. He doesn’t remember what his previous master was like, but… everything felt too...perfect. Like it was going to go horribly wrong and it would be his fault.

A pit settled into the bottom of his stomach, the feeling of guilt starting to eat away at him. He didn’t feel like he deserved this, but… he could do what he can for the people that have been so nice to him so far, more than he deserved. Whatever was needed, he’ll do it. He swallowed thickly.

He heard a distinct crack outside of the building, which he went out to investigate, drawing Arondight. He crept along the side of the building, on one side he saw Amilia in the pool, her wearing a swimsuit and a towel laid on the side of the pool. He turned to give his Master some privacy, when he heard another crack. He crept to the other side and found a man dawning a blue bodied armor poking around some bushes, muttering to himself.

“Bastard comes back from the dead just to order me around some more, I see how it is.” The blue man kicked the bushes some more. He seemed to be of the Lancer class, same as Diarmuid, and dawned long blue hair that reached down his backside. Glowing red eyes scowled at the bushes he was murdering. “No ones fucking here,” he mumbled

Lancelot rounded the corner to stand behind him, waiting for him to notice. When he turned back around his eyes widened but other than that gave no indication he was surprised. _He’s good,_ Lancelot thought.

“Hello there,” he said in greeting, “Now why might you be on our property?”

“Beats me, ask my Master,” he said nonchalantly. “All he told me was ‘There’s a surge of magical energy coming from here, go check it out,’ and now I’m here.” Lancer brandished a red spear and lowered himself into a defense position, “What’re you gonna do about it?” he said, with a cocky smirk.

Lancelot brought up Arondight, “If you leave, then nothing. However, I have my Masters well being to consider, so if you do anything to _her_ I’ll have to kill you.”

“You seem very reasonable for a Berserker,” Lancer commented.

“I have my moments,” he replied.

Amilia, being the person of the most horrible timing ever, now rounds the corner with her towel wrapped around her, freezing when she sees the two servants.

“Wait! Hold on!” she says and runs back into the house, “Let me get changed! Don’t fight yet!”

 _You’d put a fight on hold because you're not in the proper clothing?_ Lancelot thought, but miraculously Lancer did actually wait for her to return, but looked more than annoyed about having to do so.

“Okay!” Amilia yells, coming back into the clearing now dawning a pair of sweatpants and a crop top, it falling over her shoulder just enough to reveal a sports bra. Her hair had been quickly dried and thrown up into a bun. She brandished Caliburn, “Let’s go!” She went to stand behind Lancelot.

Lancer laughed, “What’re you gonna do with that little lady?” he pointed to her sword, “You gonna poke me with that stick?”

Amilia pouted, “I'm going to fight you!”

Lancer laughed again, and Amilia was starting to get mad at being mocked, “Alright alright, sure. Let’s see how you do then!” He launched at her, moving so quickly she barely had a chance to bring her sword up. Luckily, Lancelot was faster than she was, blocking the blade with his sword and kicking him back.

He launched in with his own attack, thrusting his sword forward to strike above the spear, but Lancer brought it up and spun around, narrowly missing Lancelot’s head with the blade. Amilia ran forward again, seeing a weak spot she attempted to exploit, but as soon as Lancer saw her coming it closed, he kicked her back quickly while blocking another blow from Lancelot. Amilia tumbled to the ground, coughing, but quickly got back up again. She gave Lancelot more magic, before attempting to run in again. Lancer jumped up and landed behind her before she could notice him, she attempted to roll away from the attack, but Lancer was too fast. Lancelot picked her up by her clothes like she was a puppy and tossed her back behind him as gently as he could, which still meant she fell hard onto her butt, before taking the blow himself. It went into his bicep, but he still managed to give a cut to Lancer’s forearm, but lost grip on Arondight as a result. He jumped back and removed the spear from his arm, blood dripping off of him. Lancer, not losing pace, brought his fists up like he was about to start boxing him. Arondight dissolved away from where he left it on the ground, it billowing up into smoke before surrounding Lancelot like a cloud. His armor materialized, and once again he looked like the raging beast they had found in the car garage.

“Berserker?” she said, worried.

He brought a hand back like he was shielding her, “Do not worry Master, this fight will be over soon.” With that, he took up Lancer’s spear in his grip, the weapon being taken over by Lancelot’s aura, bleeding black into the red. 

Lancer’s eyes widened, “Oh? That’s interesting,” he said, still not lowering his fists. He sprung forward and Lancelot attempted to stab him, but Lancer ducked underneath it, almost bridging as the blade swept over his face. He stood upright again, now within Lanclot’s space and gave an uppercut under his jaw. Lancelot’s head jerked up, which Lancer took the opportunity to grab both of his hands, spinning around so he was facing away from him, twisting the hands into a cross position. Using the momentum, Lancer pitched forward, sending Lancelot onto his back, losing the grip on the stolen spear. Lancer quickly snatched it up again, attempting to jump back away from him but forgetting about Amilia. She crouched down and shifted the grip on her blade so it ran down the side of her arm and swiped at his ankles. She cut into one, forcing Lancer to stick the other one up to avoid it being cut, and as such lost his balance. She attempted to stab him once she had him prone, but he merely laughed and disincorporated in front of her, her blade sinking into the grass.

“Not bad, kid! Maybe you have some potential,” came his disembodied voice, and with that he was gone.

She hurried over to Lancelot to heal him, luckily he didn’t seem too hurt besides the cut into his arm.

“You okay?” she asked.

“That was very foolish of you,” he said, sitting up.

“Excuse me! I just saved your life!” she crossed her arms.

“I would’ve been fine. I was trying to protect you mostly. Your form and stance was all off, if you had been alone you would’ve been killed.”

Lancelot stood up, Amilia frowning as he took his armor off again, brushing away at his clothes.

“Look, I know…” she said, he stopped to look at her. “All this stuff with Servants and such, it’s way over my head. I just want to feel like I’m helping you guys. I feel like I’m useless if I just watch.” Her lip trembled.

He watched her for a moment before bringing a hand down to help her up, which she took, “You… have potential,” he said, “There were a lot of things wrong with your form but I can tell you have a talent with the sword. I can help you hone that talent.”

“Really!?” she exclaimed.

He nodded, “It would be nice to have a squire again,” he smiled.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she launched herself into a hug without thinking. Lancelot was surprised for a moment before returning it, placing a hand on her head.

“Thank you!” she said.

He felt his heart softening towards her, thinking back to the other people he had trained over the course of his life. How they had ended up… He frowned, tightening his grip on her. That won’t happen again, he won’t allow it.

“Did something happen?” came a voice from the house. 

They pulled away to find Diarmuid bracing himself on the doorframe, looking like he was going to pass out any second.

“I thought I heard shouting,” he said.

Amilia walked over to him and looped an arm behind her back, sticking herself under his arm so he could lean on her for support. “Nothing’s wrong! I think a Servant was just sent to scout us. Also--” she grinned, “--Lancelot’s gonna teach me the art of the blade!” She started leading them to the hot springs.

Diarmuid glanced back at said person, “Oh? And I wasn’t good enough?” He was joking, of course.

“Well of course you are, but you have spears, he has a sword,” Amilia said back.

“I used swords in my lifetime,” Diarmuid said.

She had forgotten about that, “Oh, that’s right.” 

“Yes! I used a combination of swords and spears, it’s how I prefer to fight. These class weapons can be so limiting.”

They had reached the hot springs at that point, and Diarmuid finally realized what Amilia was planning, but by then, it was too late. She unceremoniously dropped him into the pool, of course using magic to make sure he wasn’t harmed _too_ badly.

“Hey!” he said in protest, flapping his hands in the water.

“Hot water opens up your sinuses, you can thank me later.” She turned to find Lancelot gone.

Diarmuid sighed and resigned himself to his fate. She sat by the poolside, waiting to help him back out again.

_I knew about the swords, but did he really use both at the same time? Why is he a Lancer anyway? Wouldn’t either be just as likely?_

_Can they switch classes?_

“Hey Diarmuid, come here,” she motioned him to come over.

He floated over to her, already seeming a bit stronger than before. She kept motioning until he was right beside her.

“I have a theory I wanna test, mind if I just screw around with the bond for a moment?”

He froze, contemplating, “Will it hurt?” he asked.

“I’ll stop if it does,” she assured.

He nodded.

She placed her hands on top of his head, sinking her fingers into the soft locks. He closed his eyes and rested his head against her knee, leaning into the administrations. _I wonder if you’re touch starved_ she thought, making a mental note.

She reached out with her magic to get a feel for certain things, there were a lot of vague concepts she could feel across her fingertips, but nothing felt quite like what she was looking for.

Then, she found something that felt _very_ similar to what she felt when she first contracted, something that just told her that he was a Lancer. She pressed into it, and felt something else just behind it. She brought it forward.

She opened her eyes to find a Saber. 

Diarmuid had on blue armor now, with a slight braid in his hair and a blue scarf around his neck. He leaned up and she saw that his outfit was of a similar color to his lancer one, but it was more of a crop top, and he had on baggy pants. 

She panicked and pushed it back down, and his normal Lancer form returned. He sagged beneath her. 

“Shit shit shit,” she clambered into the pool and drew him in further, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

His eyes had fallen closed again, and she wasn’t sure if she could remove him from the pool easily. Luckily, she could hear Lancelot approach again, holding several towels.

“Hey! Can you help?” she asked.

Together they managed to bring him out of the pool, Lancelot carrying him piggyback style back into the house. He clung to Lancelot’s back like a wet otter, not letting go even as Lancelot tried to put him down. Resigning to his fate, he sat down with Diarmuid curled around him. Amilia cast a drying spell and draped his futon over the two of them. Diarmuid couldn’t even be seen from underneath, it looked like Lancelot had a large hump on his back.

“So apparently you guys can switch classes,” Amilia told Lancelot, going to switch the heat on to make sure Diarmuid stayed warm.

“How do you know?”

“Cause I just switched his class.”

“Ah.” Was all Lancelot replied with.

“I’m surprised we haven’t seen more fighting.” Amilia got the idea to make hot cocoa for Diarmuid, going to the cupboard to get some she bought.

“I do think the fights we’ll see will be harsher, but the Masters will also be smarter with how they reveal themselves. I think it was apathy that caused that Lancer to be so careless.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Would you like me to go and scout?”

“If you do I would want to go with you, get a feel for the area.”

“I understand.”

Amilia pointed to Lancelot’s human koala, “If we can get him off your back for long enough though.”

Lancelot placed a hand on where he thought Diarmuid’s head was, rubbing slightly, “Proceeding that, yes. Though I don’t necessarily mind.”

Amilia smiled at that, putting a couple of marshmallows into the cocoa before approaching the blanket lump.

“Diiiiarmuuuuid~” she said in a singsong voice, poking the pile.

The pile grunted.

“I got hot cocoa~”

A slight opening emerged in the fortress, in which a hand was stuck through. Lancelot took the opportunity to shimmy away from his backpack, going to sit across from him. Diarmuid almost reached out to him, but pulled back, gripping the cocoa Amilia was offering with two hands.

“Thank you,” he grunted.

Amilia patted his head, “Anytime.”

They sat like that for a bit, sunlight streaming into the room as the sun set. Diarmuid slowly sipped his drink and then lay right there on the living room floor, going to sleep again. Amilia went to his room and brought out a pillow and carefully slipped it under his head and brought the covers up more. He was looking a lot better, despite his drain of energy from switching his class earlier. She still couldn’t believe that actually happened.

“Okay,” she whispered, getting on her coat, “Let’s go.”

Lancelot nodded and the two of them exited the house once more.

Of course it was a thinly-veiled attempt to get Lancelot out so she could buy clothes for him, but she found him less receptive to shopping than even Diarmuid was. The lancer had warmed up after trying on a few clothes, but no matter what Amilia put Lancelot in, or what she said, he always had the look of a disgruntled cat forced to wear a costume. It made it very difficult to buy for him. Diarmuid had ended up with a variety of stylish outfits, but she couldn’t force Lancelot out of any variations of black, navy, and dark grey pants and shirts (though of course she snuck a few anyway, including a pair of suits for both of them that she thought looked snazzy). The two of them also bought stuff to decorate the house with, which at least got him to make a few suggestions for everyone’s rooms.

“Are we done,” he said after the latest store, and she could tell he was reaching his limit.

“Yeah, I can say we’re done,” she said. Once again, not wanting to lug what they got around, she found a spot and transported them back to the house, where the sudden appearance of clothing and bags startled Diarmuid awake.

“Do you wanna walk around?” she asked Lancelot.

“I had thought that would be the purpose of this, so yes,” he responded.

She bumped him and stuck out her tongue, and then they were off. 

The city was honestly beautiful; they walked underneath the Fuyuki bridge, just taking in the lights reflecting off of the water. The nightlife was also fantastic, there were small shops and vendors open even though it was dark, and the two of them got coffee as they walked around. After a while, they turned onto a street and looming in the distance, an old church could be seen. Amilia paused.

“Wait,” she said to Lancelot, who hadn’t seen her stop and was continuing.

“What?”

“The church,” she said, pointing.

“What about it?”

“The Church was said to oversee whatever going on the war had, they facilitated it for a while. Maybe we could find something out if we go in there?”

Lancelot looked over the building and shrugged, “Sure, why not.”

And so they made their way towards the church building. Bugs chirped at them from the underbrush as they approached the iron gate. Gently pushing it open, Amilia found it unlocked. She turned to Lancelot, who shrugged, casually drawing his weapon. 

_Yoooo, maybe don’t do that,_ she thought.

 _Why not?_ She heard Lancelot’s voice respond, he even looked at her and gave all the correct cues that he just said something, but his lips didn’t move.

 _Wait, we can communicate telepathically!?_ She mind screeched, which Lancelot winced at.

_Yes, I assume we can since you just did, and we are currently still doing at the present moment._

_That’s so cool!_ she gave a thumbs up. _Anyway, we don’t want to seem threatening, so no swords,_ she explained, making a push-down motion with her hands.

Lancelot rolled his eyes but put the weapon away. They continued walking, Amilia now testing their telepathic abilities by making random mind noises and seeing if Lancelot could hear them, to which he always responded, _Yes Amilia, I can hear that._

They reached the church’s front doors, almost hidden away from the public eye by a large statue of the Virgin Mary, or Amilia assumed; she wasn’t Catholic. The church seemed brightly lighted from the inside, almost welcoming from the cold bite of the air outside, but something about it was more than a little off to Amilia. It was like the walls were too white, the path a little too untrodden, the type of perfect that implies a human hasn’t touched these stones in years. A shiver ran up Amilia’s spine, and she subconsciously huddled closer to Lancelot, who sensed her discomfort and allowed her to grip his arm. 

Lancelot thankfully braced the door’s knocking, the short sounds echoing like drums in the still air. There was silence for several moments, and Lancelot even had to strike again, it was so long that she thought maybe she was mistaken, that the church seemed untouched because it _had_ been and there were no Church facilitators here. However, the door creaked open, it not being apparent who on the inside opened it, from where she stood she saw a red furnished pew. 

“Come in,” said a deep voice, then the sound of retreating footsteps.

Deciding to be brave, she stepped forward and guided them into the church, the door totally not ominously closing behind them. Her only solace was that she was able to see the inside clearly, no playing of shadows here, everything was brightly lit. There were several rows of pews that lead up to a risen ledge that sat a pulpit. In the first pew row, a man with brown hair reached down to his shoulders in shaggy curls sat. She couldn’t see over his shoulder from where she was standing, but he was hunched in such a way that suggested he was reading.

Then, the distinct sound of a book collapsing shut, then the man straightened, “You know I cannot allow you to seek asylum when you bring your servant here with you.” His voice echoed around the small room.

“I’m not seeking asylum,” Amilia found her voice, “I-My name is Amilia Velvet, I’m a Master and I want to learn more about this Grail War. The--” She almost said _The people who sent me,_ but she remembered she was supposed to be acting independently, “--I was sort of thrown in with only a bare minimum of prior knowledge, but even that’s moot now because this Grail War’s all different. So what’s changed?”

The man stood up and started walking down the main aisle towards them. He wore typical priests robes with a long blue fabric that draped over his neck and extended past his hips, which she was sure meant something significant in faith. It was like he had all the individual characteristics of someone trustworthy, but when she made contact with his brown eyes that drilled into her, she couldn’t find a single shred of humanity behind them.

“Velvet, was it?” he asked.

She now wanted to take back ever telling him her name. 

“In many ways, the Grail War is the same. I trust you know about the Greater and Lesser Grail, the need for, in a typical war, all Grail war servants need to die to activate it?”

Lancelot glanced back at her in a silent question.

“Yes, the Lesser Grail creates a ‘hole’ of sorts where you can access it from. I’m not interested in anything like that.” She said that last sentence more to Lancelot than to the priest. “I saw the diagram.”

“Not a lot of people are interested in the _Akasha_ anymore.” He crossed through one of the aisles to the edge of the room, walking around with even steps, making slow circles around them. “In short, the Grail is trying to purge itself.”

“Purge?” That would line up with what ‘she’ said about resetting.

“During the third Grail War, the Einzberns, the ones who--”

“Yeah yeah they make the contents or whatever, homunculi, heart of the greater Grail as the gate to the Root,” she waved him on, “Get to the good stuff.”

He ceased his steps for a moment, and she ducked behind Lancelot, afraid he was going to attack her, but he merely laughed and continued.

“Very well, the Einzberns attempted to gain the upper hand during the third grail war by summoning a servant that was outside the typical seven classes so that no one could beat them. This servant, though weak when summoned, corrupted the Grail when it--”

“I’m almost positive this servant has a pronoun,” she snapped. What the fuck was with her being creeped out that made her a massive _bitch?_ She shocked even herself.

 _Amilia, simmer down,_ Lancelot told her.

 _He’s creepy!_ She mind yelled back.

“--When _he_ got reabsorbed into the Grail, he corrupted it. Any subsequent wishes would only be met with destruction. The next two subsequent wars saw a massive amount of destruction--”

“--Wait.”

“--Amilia, oh my god--” Lancelot growled.

“--Next _two_? I thought this was the fifth?” She tried to recall what she read.

The man gave out a heavy sigh, “This is the sixth. The Lesser Grail was destroyed before activating the Greater one during the fourth, meaning all the mana used to access it had nowhere to go, leaving the next cycle of Grail war to come sooner than what was normal. A similar thing happened during the fifth war.”

“Huh, okay, did not know that. Continue.”

“Oh, I’m getting your permission?” he walked towards her.

Lancelot moved between them.

She blinked at him, “Um, yeah?” A beat passed, “Please?”

He mumbled something under his breath before continuing, “Now this is speculation of course, but the Grail is, in essence, fighting itself--” 

_That tracks_.

_It indeed, tracks._

“--The leylines are being corroded and snapped like two forces are pulling on it. The Grail is pushing against its own corruption. As such, it needed to expel as much of its energy as possible to properly reabsorb it and prevent the corruption from spreading, condensing its efforts inward. That meant _anything_ that had to do with the Grail war, expunged and redone.”

“What do you mean, redone?”

He took a step closer to her and reached out like he was about to touch her before Lancelot further moved in his way, “Anything that it touched in the span of its existence was wiped from its memory if an anomaly of magic has memory, of course. Wiped, reset, and plopped down into modern times, like fish in the sand. That means all the heroic spirits it can summon, but it also means whatever deaths it has done, or were done in its name.”

“So--” She looked to Lancelot. She sort of got what he was trying to say, but found herself unable to structure it, to find the two of them were in an intense staring match.

“So whoever died as a master of the grail war, any grail war, also returns?” Lancelot finished her uncoordinated thought.

“Precisely,” The man gave a wicked grin. Boldly, he stepped towards Lancelot, “Everything is reborn, set to start again with new life! It’s how you got to have your pretty servant right here, young woman, the likes of which are _strangely_ familiar.” A glint sparked in his eye, the likes of which even forced Lancelot to move back.

It was time for Amilia to protect Lancelot. She stepped forward and put a hand on the priest's chest, using the bare minimum amount of magic to push him away, which still sent him stumbling backward, almost crashing into a pew.

“Stop that. No creeping on my servant,” she said. Her voice did not waver, unlike her heart.

“Very well,” he sounded like he was struggling to keep his breath even. He stood up, straightening his clothes, seemingly regaining his composure. “I suppose you want to know why I told you all of that? What I ask for in return?”

“Oh,” she hadn’t even thought about that, “I assumed you’d want every master to be on the same playing field?” She was also just assuming this was the coordinator. For all she knew, this could be some random person that just happened to know a lot about the Grail for some reason.

He laughed that weird laugh, like he was appreciating a joke no one else got, “You are right young woman! However, we are trying to conduct this with as much _discretion_ as possible. Many of these masters have been pronounced dead for many years, and as such, might be disturbing the peace if they are allowed to run amuck. All that _I_ ask is that if you encounter one of these masters, you round them up and bring them to me. Or at least let me know. It will be a shame if they hurt themselves or others in their ignorance.” He stood in the center aisle once more, staring right at them.

Amilia was gripped with the strangest feeling of claustrophobia, that at any second, the walls were going to close in on her and eat her alive. She found herself backing away, bumping into Lancelot.

“Alright!” she decided to fake a cheerful demeanor, “Bring you dead masters, got it! Will do!” She turned and tugged at Lancelot’s wrist, who seemed to be glued in place before he snapped out of it. “We’ll be going now! Thanks for all your help!” She dragged him towards the exit.

“You’re very welcome, child.” He said as they made their way to the door. 

Amilia flung it open, but spared a glance back to see the priest with a splitting grin.

“The names Kirei Kotomine, in case you were wondering,” He called as they stepped through, “I’ll be waiting.” His last sentence was accentuated by the slam of the solid wood doors, greeting the pair with the cold bite of the night’s air once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so this was a very hard chapter to force out for some reason, I just could never find a good place to stop at any point whatsoever.
> 
> Anyways, don't worry, the Galehaut thing is definitely going to be expanded on later, it's not just a once mentioned thing, it's going to be relevant.
> 
> This is basically lore dumping, and also setting up some things for some pay off later, with a sick fic stick in-between it. I tried to not make it too exposition-heavy, but this is fate, after all, there's only so much you can do.
> 
> If anything is confusing I'm glad to clarify it! Just have it be known I'm still workshopping a couple of things so it might not be expanded on until later.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, leave a comment and tell me what you think!


	11. Live for Any Reason at All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: There are suicide mentions in this, going into a bit more detail than the offhanded comment  
> Tw: Bugs? Worms? Basically, if you didn't like the Kariya scenes where the physical effects of the crest worms were evident, it'll be along those lines

“And then he was like, ‘I’ll be waiting,’ like some young version of Dracula, it was just, so weird! Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“I mean, not for us, not recently,” Diarmuid replied.

They had returned the previous night sometime after midnight, anxious but too exhausted to do anything about it. Or Amilia was, at least. Lancelot had gone right in to check on Diarmuid and had seemingly been up for the rest of the night. She slept in by quite a bit, not so used to staying out late. Diarmuid followed a similar pattern to Amilia, waking up very late the next day. The worst of the sickness seemed to have passed. He actually was able to make (what was functionally) dinner, and expertly made ramen. He sniffled a tad bit as he set down plates for everyone. Lancelot tried to protest with the ‘Servants don’t need to x’ argument but was shut down pretty quickly. Having now processed what happened, Amilia relayed the story to Diarmuid as well as she could.

“He also said earlier, ‘you're familiar, pretty boy,’ and I was like no thank you!”

“What did you say his name was?” Diarmuid asked.

“Kirei Kotomine.”

“Hmm,” he took a bite of his food.

“Why, do you recognize the name?”

“Not _Kirei_ , no, but _Risei_ Kotomine was the name of the coordinator during the fourth Grail war.”

“Oh, by the way, this is apparently the sixth grail war.”

Diarmuid paused before putting another bite into his mouth. “What?”

“Apparently because the grail didn’t _complete_ the ritual during the fourth one. The fourth grail happened in 1994, so somewhere between then and now, the fifth grail war happened.”

“So, a wish wasn’t properly utilized during the fourth grail war?”

“Seems like it.”

Diarmuid looked down into his food before mumbling, “They kill me for it, and they don’t even use it.”

Amilia watched him for a moment before responding, “Is there something you want to talk about?”

He shook his head, picking his and Lancelot’s bowls up and setting them in the sink, “No, it’s nothing.”

“Okay, well, I’m here if you need me.”

Diarmuid smiled at her, “I know. Maybe--not now.”

She nodded, not liking she couldn’t help him through something but respecting his decision to keep it from her.

“Do you think Risei is related to this Kirei?” Lancelot asked, getting them back to their original discussion.

“Probably? I’m not sure. What I’m more concerned with is how he thinks he knows you.”

“Amilia, I think he was just saying that to get underneath our skin.”

“Well, it worked! My skin has been… under… It’s--It’s under my skin!” She slammed the table. “Ow.”

“Simmer down, kiddo.”

_~Simmer down, kiddo~_ She mocked. Lancelot leaned over and flicked her on the forehead. “Ow!”

“What did you do that for?” Diarmuid asked.

“She mocked me.” Lancelot deadpanned.

“When?”

_Oh right._ Amilia directed her thoughts at Diarmuid. _Also_ , _this is apparently a thing._

_HOW MANY MORE APPARENT THINGS ARE THERE?!_ Diarmuid threw up his hands but responded back to her flawlessly in mind speak.

Amilia laughed and then shrugged.

“Well, are you going to do it?” Lancelot asked.

“Do what?”

“Return the dead masters to him. Are you going to do it?”

She twirled her fork as she thought about it, “I will if it’s necessary, I think. But it’ll definitely be a case by case basis.”

“I see. I think that’s a good plan.”

Diarmuid had wandered out of the kitchen and was now shifting through the bags of stuff they had bought. He called slightly, asking what a particular thing was, in which Lancelot walked in to try to see what he was looking at. Alone in the kitchen, she tried to process some things.

Article one: She had no idea what Diarmuid actually thought about the whole master coming back to life thing. She had told him, and he had merely nodded along, not seeming to think one way or another about it. Was he okay? She didn’t actually know what his previous master did.

Article two: What the fuck was that priest doing creeping on Lancelot like that? Did they know each other? Lancelot wouldn’t be able to say, he didn’t remember, and Diarmuid didn’t seem to have met the man. His relationship to her servant was shrouded in mystery, one she definitely did not like.

Article three: Dead….people? Why did that guy want to collect previous grail war masters? To what purpose does that serve? The entire thing twisted a horrible feeling into her gut, and she definitely didn’t want to do anything that he _wanted_ them to do.

She was interrupted from her articles when there came a knock at the door. She heard shuffling from the living room, and Diarmuid passed her line of sight to open it. There came a small discussion in Japanese, and then the shutting of the door. Diarmuid sneezed as he came into the room and handed the paper off to her.

“What is it?” She turned the envelope over in her hand. It seemed to be made from very heavy parchment. The paper felt thick in her hand as she ran her hand over it. It was tied with a golden ribbon, which she undid, and there was wax sealing the letter closed, stamped into it was two hooked scepters crossed over a throne, and on the outside in calligraphy read:

_To the Masters and Servant Within this Abode._

“Shit, they found us quickly,” she mumbled, before breaking the seal, almost feeling bad about it because of how perfectly it was sealed on.

What came out of the envelope, along with the paper, was something she could only describe as glitter. Black and gold flecks burst forth from their confines and proceeded to get all over her face and clothes, sputtering as she waved away the cloud of ash. She finally got to the actual letter, which had a picture of a woman behind it. She read the message first.

_To the Master who has dared to stand before and to defy me in this “Grail War.”_

_I, the great and mighty Ozymandias, invite you to test your resolve in my arena so that I may determine with my own eyes if you should even dare to stand before me. I have been told that the greatest heroes of all time have been summoned without prejudice regardless of space and time. I do not expect to be disappointed, for the punishment for that is great._

_But do not fret! For I am a thoughtful and kind king, those who do not meet my expectations but are still seen as noteworthy in one way or another may dine with me at my table, a gift for being worthy of sitting on the Throne of Heroes!_

_The mighty Ozymandias calls to you, do not delay and make haste in a fortnight. Access to my glorious kingdom shall be underneath the Fuyuki bridge._

_In the time that you must wait to gaze upon me, instead gaze upon my glorious wife who I love and cherish in everlasting radiance._

_Ah, so that explains the picture,_ Amilia thought, looking at it properly. She was honestly a beautiful woman. She happily smiled for the photo, dark skin with darker hair that fell into bangs above warm brown eyes. Two flowers laid entwine in her hair, giving off an aura of sunshine to the whole photo. _So much for discretion so that other people don’t know who you are, though._

“What is it?” Diarmuid glanced over her shoulder.

She handed the paper to him, “I think we’re being summoned to duel, I guess?”

Lancelot wandered over and read the paper over Diarmuid’s shoulder. 

“Woah that reminds me of someone,” Diarmuid said when he got done reading it. “Are we going then?”

“Yeah, I think so. It would be good to scope out the masters and servants, as well to see what Grail team would be so bold as to pull something like this. Plus, we might see my father there.”

“There is one problem.” Lancelot pointed to the envelope. “It says Master and _Servant_ , singular, they’re not expecting two servants to go in. I don’t think it would be wise to show our hand just yet.”

“Rock paper scissors for it!” Diarmuid cried.

The two men turned towards each other and proceeded to play rock paper scissors, many ties happening before Diarmuid got a scissor to Lancelot’s paper and won, laughing and bumping the top of his hand while doing so.

“So our dear Lancer’s going,” Lancelot informed her, Diarmuid beaming in the background.

“Efficient,” Amilia replied.

In the meantime, Amilia wanted to get a feel for Fuyuki’s ley lines, as well as finding out how two servants were able to find them so quickly.

“Did you put up a dampening field?” Diarmuid said, the three of them getting ready to go out. It was late evening at this point, and the sun was about to set.

“Yes, Diarmuid I put up a dampening field, I’m not a novice.” She slipped on some boots before waiting for the other two.

Diarmuid emerged in a crafty plaid pair of green paints, with the same jacket she had given him earlier and a button-up black shirt and similar green vest. He wrapped a scarf around his neck and arranged it so it hung in a fancy tie down his neck. Lancelot came out in black jeans and a black shirt. She had to force him to put on a coat.

“Servants don’t--”

“--Get cold,” she finished for him, “Yeah, I know, don’t care. I bought a nice coat for you, wear it.”

He sighed heavily and went back to put on the said coat. It was a fancy one that buttoned and tied around his waist.

“You look nice!” Diarmuid said emphatically, walking over to smooth down his shoulders.

Lancelot looked down at him warmly, a small smile gracing his lips, 

“Thank you.”

They stepped outside, to which Amilia turned around and handed them two black credit cards each. They looked at them quizzically.

“What’s this?” Lancelot asked.

“You’re very own credit cards. Buy whatever you want on it.”

“Amilia, we can’t accept these,” Diarmuid said, “We’re overindulging your hospitality.”

She turned around and started walking off. “You see, it’s _not_ hospitality though.” She heard them starting to follow her, but no reply so she kept talking, “You guys are going into dangerous battles and risking your lives for me, so this is the least I can do for you guys. Think of it as payment of sorts.”

“For our partnership?” Diarmuid laughed.

Amilia nodded, “Right!”

“Very well Amilia. Thank you.”

They went to the same shops that she and Lancelot visited yesterday, now with new energy because Diarmuid was _loving_ it. He practically dragged them into every store that they could find, looking at everything ranging from the cute, to the charming, to the frankly bizarre. She slowly walked behind them, Diarmuid enthusiastically tugging on Lancelot's sleeve to drag them to the next store. They went to the coffee shop they went to earlier, and she got a new drink, Lancelot got the same thing: a caramel macchiato, and Diarmuid got a mint mocha latte. 

Lancelot seemed more vibrant now than he had when they first contracted, he was almost a ghost moving without purpose or shape, but now she could see him almost laughing at points, definitely soaking up the energy that Diarmuid is bringing. _They’re really good for each other_ she thought, taking a sip of her drink. Diarmuid was wildly explaining something to Lancelot who was nodding along, listening intently.

Diarmuid also came a long way. Like before, it seemed like he was hellbent on denying the part of him that was human, but now he was picking up small trinkets and holding them up to her to inspect. Laughing when something makes an unexpected noise. The lad pet no less than six different dogs the time they’ve been on the street, delighting everyone who he decided to approach.

It’s been, what, a week? Not even? That’s all it took to negate whatever they went through in the previous Grail War, their life? This was barely any effort on her part, she just treated them like human beings. Her hand tightened around her cup.

They walked towards the center of the Shinto district, towards where Amilia was hoping to find the leyline of magic. Meeting an abrupt end to the shops and people, the trio came across the entrance to a desolate looking patch of woods. A shiver ran up Amilia’s spine. That priest was right, unfortunately, it seemed like there was something wrong with the land here. As if it was a cloth stained with red wine. She kneeled down, trying to get a feel for the land with her magic. Ah, but just underneath it, a pulsing, as if something was wringing that very same cloth for the life of it. But this wasn’t where it was strongest. Wordlessly, she walked in with her servants behind her.

It was like they disconnected from reality, one minute they were among normal humans and having a good time, next it was as if all the life from everything was sucked out of the air itself. She resented bringing her servants in here after she just got them in a good mood, but it was unavoidable now. The wringing was getting stronger, as if the land itself was holding itself in tension. She lost herself in feelings of magic, really actually vibing with what she was getting back.

Then she stepped on a bug. 

It literally made a squelching noise underneath her foot, and she could feel the guts leaving its body as she put pressure on it. She screeched and ran to jump onto Lancelot, who stumbled a bit at the sudden weight but didn’t tip over. She clung to his side and started pointing at the offending dead bug.

“Bug! It's a bug!”

“That it is,” he said.

Amilia had wrapped her arms around his head from the side, so Lancelot was effectively blind right now but taking it very well, especially with a squirmy person on him as well. Diarmuid went to inspect the bug.

“I think it's dead.”

“It is! It was so nasty, it made a popping noise!” she cried out. 

There was another sound of a boot coming down and the squelching sound came again.

“There’s another one.” Diarmuid said. More subsequent sounds as he felt the need to announce every time he stepped on one, which was very much not helping Amilia calm down at all. “Lordie there’s a lot of them.”

Something pinged on Amilia’s magic radar and she suddenly stopped squirming, climbing down from Lancelot and approaching the squished bug, previous fear forgotten. She picked one up.

“Ew gross why are you touching it?” Diarmuid made an x with his hands.

She held it up to him, “There’s magic in it!”

“Magic? A magic bug?”

“Yeah!” She changed the direction of magic to sense more of these bugs. And she did find them. A lot more of them. There wasn’t a perfect trail of them but it was definitely leading to some place. Hand glowing, she walked off the path and further into the wood. 

“Are you sure you want to--aaand you’re already in there okay,” Diarmuid mumbled, Lancelot following.

The further she went in the more bugs she came across. She tried to not step on them but it was avoidable in some cases, it was getting dark and she couldn’t see very well. They were slimy little creatures, almost like worms but way more gross. As she shined a light on them she had trouble actually placing the species of them. All she knew was that they were icky and she hated them. She stumbled over a log and almost face planted, luckily Diarmuid was able to catch her in time.

This was where the signal was strongest, she patted at Diarmuid to let go of her, and she jumped over the log to inspect the underside of it. There was a pile of leaves and branches, in which the strongest signal was emitting. She could see the bugs shifting the pile every once in a while. She crouched down and dug her hand into it, shifting the pile a little bit to get a better look at them. Her hand brushed up against something cold, and a desolate milky _human_ eyeball came into view. She scrambled backwards, the feeling of her hand touching it still stuck to her fingers like the sensation of scraping her teeth against each other.

“That’s a person!” she yelled. “Human, human person!”

Lancelot finally came up to them, and he crouched by the pile, shifting more of the leaves so the whole body came into view. It seemed to be a man, white hair shrouded in a navy hoodie. One half of the man’s face looked normal, the other eye a sort of dull grey, the other half looked like it, she didn’t know how to describe it, it was almost like something was using his blood vessels as tunnels, raising and mangling the skin as it tore through his body. 

“Hm.” Was Lancelot’s only comment.

“Is he dead!?” Amilia asked desperately. 

Lancelot brought his fingers to the man's pulse, his head lolled to the side very much like how a dead person’s would. Faintly, she could see Lancelot’s breath in the air. 

“Yes I think he’s alive,” he said. He stuck his hand underneath the pile where he thought his legs would be, straightening up and carrying the man bridle style, the wet leaves falling like clumps around his body, interspersed with the bugs, of course.

Amilia walked over to him and tried to survey the damage, she didn’t like what she saw when she scanned him. She felt magic circuits that feel like they've been stretched to their snapping point, spread so thin that they frayed along the edges of it. At the same time, something was in there almost rummaging around, nibbling at the edge of the frayed circuits. Her stomach churned as she realized it must be the bugs, that must be where they’re getting their magical energy from. She had never seen anything like this before, there was no way basic healing was going to fix this.

“We need to get him back to the house, now.” She pulled at Lancelot urgently.

“Do you want me to run him back and wait for you?” he asked.

She thought about it. If she teleported that would be less magic to give to him, and she had a feeling she would need a lot of it. Maybe it would be best if Lancelot got him home really quick.

“Okay, get him back quick.”

Lancelot nodded, and braced to start running, but even the motion of going into the starter position jostled the man, and he made the first noise that she heard from him, a strained whining sound, almost like a dog with a broken leg.

“On second thought, maybe we just walk really fast.”

Lancelot nodded. Diarmuid pulled the man’s hoodie further over his face so his condition wouldn’t be obvious, but they still took the back way out of the park, and not in the direction they came. They crashed through the underbrush without a care, the man going limp and silent again as they trudged along. If he died before she could get to heal him, she didn’t know if she could forgive herself. Balling her fists at her side, she frowned as she marched forward.

They walked down the now desolate street to their house, Amilia intermittently turning around and giving him a burst of healing, which would soothe the crease in his brows temporarily before twisting in pain again, sometimes he would retch out more bugs onto the pavement. Amilia resisted the urge to vomit herself. 

It was during one such time of healing that both Lancelot and Diarmuid put a hand on her shoulders and forced her to duck quickly, Amilia just feeling something whiz by her head before a large crash echoed behind her. Her servants stepped in front of her, Lancelot dropping the injured man onto Amilia’s back, and she realized that there was a large lance-like blade stuck into the side of the stone behind her. She turned around quickly.

There were two people standing a little ways down the road from them, one was a man with a sort of business look about him, slightly slicked back hair and a tailored suit. The person next to him was a Berserker class servant. Fiery red hair pulled back in a ponytail and bangs that swept over one eye, he wore what appeared to Amilia to be traditional Japanese armor, and a magnificent coat that went over top of it. He had this very intense look about him like he was the type of person you would subconsciously avoid just because any conversation might just be him yelling.

“Hello!” She tried to call out in a friendly manner, she really didn’t want to fight right now.

The Berserker glared at her, “What the fuck was that! _Hello?_ That’s so fucking boring! Shut the fuck up, I’ll kill you!”

His Master just breathed out a heavy sigh.

“Oh.” She replied.

The Berserker then laughed, “Nah I won’t kill you, just your servants probably. Hopefully they aren’t as boring as that fucking greeting was!”

_What is your problem?_ She thought, standing up, _Lancelot, Diarmuid, please take care of him quickly I don’t think I can handle much more of that._

_Agreed_ they replied back at the same time.

Diarmuid swung around to the left as Lancelot jumped back for the weapon still lodged in the stone, materializing his armor while doing so. As with the Lancer’s spear, the weapon turned a black and red color, which looked like cooling lava as he ran full throttle towards the Berserker.

“Hey what the fuck? That was my weapon, that's not fair!” He yelled as Diarmuid reached him, swiping at him quickly, forcing him to jump back. The master quickly got out of the way of the two servants, using a small magic burst to jump onto a stones edge and watch from above. He didn’t seem to be paying much attention to her, he must be close by to keep an eye on his servant. Diarmuid gave a couple more swipes before turning to let Lancelot through, him coming in with slower but more powerful strikes, which the Berserker tried to dodge, but when Diarmuid came back through with his spears he couldn’t quite find the speed, bringing his fists up and instead just taking every blow full thrust.

Amilia wanted to do something but she wasn’t sure what. It seemed weird to attack the Master, especially if he wasn’t hostile, on the other hand she had to consider the person on her back. Plus, they seemed to be doing pretty well on their own. Lancelot would give a couple bigger strikes, in which Diarmuid would dart in and give a few more smaller ones, they moved in perfect sync. Slowly, they drove the Berserker back.

“C’mon, you take my weapon right off the bat, that’s fucking bullshit!”

Diarmuid, on an off counter, decided to retort, “Well you did decide to throw it at our Master’s fucking head so I think it’s warranted.”

The Berserker ducked down and gave Lancelot a punch to the stomach before giving a heavy roll away. “Yeah that’s fair.” He then snapped forward towards Diarmuid, who wasn’t ready for the sudden movement. The Berserker started wailing on him like it was a cafeteria fight, Lancelot letting go of the weapon to try to pull him off of Diarmuid. Diarmuid kneed him in the stomach a couple of times, the Berserker baring his teeth like a wild dog, and Amilia could’ve sworn she saw sharp teeth.

“See I’m not fixing to lose this fight though!” Berserker snarled. 

Before Amilia could react, Berserker’s Master ducked between them and snatched up his weapon before darting away again. Now thinking she could do something, she drew her own weapon and approached the Master, who saw her coming and promptly ran off, Amilia giving chase.

_Be careful Amilia!_ Lancelot called after her. 

_I always am!_ she replied back.

_Debatable!_

Thinking she lost him, she sent out a magic pulse to try to get a read on the weapon. No such luck, and she had to give out constant pulses of magic to keep from tiring with her carrying the half-dead person. She ran down a couple more streets but it seemed like he really just vanished in mid-air. Then, suddenly, something above her. She snapped her head up, but instead of finding a Master she found the blue Lancer that came to her house the other day.

He crouched on top of a lamp post like it was the most natural thing in the world, holding his spear across the back of his neck, resting his hands on it. He looked at her like one would look at a curious bug. She couldn’t even hear her servants anymore, and didn’t know how far the mind link went. She was entirely at his mercy.

“So?” He asked, like it was an obvious question.

“So...what?”

He nodded up, looking at the man on her back. “Are you going to return him?”

“Return…” It clicked in her mind, “The priest is your master.” It wasn’t a question.

He laughed and hopped down from the post, landing lightly by her. “You _fucking_ guessed it. Real stand up guy he is.” The sarcasm was evident.

“This guy is a Master?” 

“According to him, yes.”

The weight on her back seemed all the more pronounced now. “I… What’s he going to do with him?”

Lancer shrugged, “Beats me, he never clarifies on anything, what he does answer is shrouded in vague riddles of sorts, and not the fun kind.”

“I don’t think I can return him if I don’t know exactly what he’s going to do. He gives me creep vibes, and I don’t want to just hand anyone to him.” She shifted the weight a bit.

“Oh kid you don’t know the half of it,” Lancer gave a bitter laugh, “Your intuition is spot on little lassie.” 

Amilia could hear faint chirping in the air, the moon was high in the sky and the streets were brightly lit, giving a weird shadow reflected on the Lancer’s face. It was familiar, somehow, something she’d seen on Diarmuid before.

“Are you okay?” She found herself asking.

Lancer’s expression changed for a split second, going from surprised to this almost hurt look on his face, for a moment she was reminded of a kicked puppy. Then, it was gone as quickly as it came, and a condescending smirk replaced it.

“Lassie, I’m a servant, in case you haven’t gotten the memo. All I’m here for is to stab who I’m told to stab then fuck off. We’re like really advanced guard dogs like that.”

“You’re not a dog though, you're a person,” she responded. Which just seemed like the obvious answer to her.

The Lancer looked surprised again, a laugh coming out as if it was forced, “I’m a--wow okay. You’re operating on another level to literally any other Master I’ve met then.”

Suddenly, the Lancer tensed and brandished his spear, body starting to shake like he was fighting back against something.

“Lady, I--recommend you get out of here.”

“Why?” She backed away, confused as to the sudden mood shift.

“Because--I--was just given a command seal to kill ya, that’s why.” He gritted his teeth as his spear started to glow, really looking like he was fighting against himself.

Her eyes widened, “What!? He’d waste it over something like this?”

“He’s got a lot of fucking command seals, okay, just get the fuck out of here!” He shouted, placing both hands on his spear and physically looking like he was tugging back on a piece of rope. His veins popping out of his head. He looked like he was in pain.

She wanted to stay and help, but knew that she was the thing directly causing him stress. She took one last glance at him and then ran, calling out in her mind for her servants, hoping they’d answer. A burst of magic welled from behind her, and as she rounded the corner she saw Lancer going into a starting block position, seemingly losing the fight against himself. 

A few yards of running brought her back to be able to sense her servants, their presence bringing a rush of security and tears to her eyes. They emerged a few seconds later.

“Master, we got him! You should’ve seen it we--”

“What happened?” Lancelot asked, seeing the look on her face.

“That Lancer guy is back,” she said.

Diarmuid looked confused but didn’t say anything. 

Then the two of them looked up at something behind her, and she looked back as well. The Lancer was now airborne, the spear a beacon of light in the black sky. She was just registering the amount of energy coming off of the spear when several things happened at once.

The Lancer threw the spear. She instinctively reached out to teleport them away, but before she could, Lancelot had yanked her back, the man on her back falling off of her as she crashed against Diarmuid. The spear seemed to split into several versions of itself, cascading down in a brilliant fire, and she could only watch in horror as they rained down and started ripping through Lancelot’s armor. He fell to the ground, and Amilia reached out and grabbed Diarmuid’s spear, who was holding it around her. She cast an origin shield, but instead of the usual green coming from her hands, Diarmuid’s spear started glowing, and a red field emerged from it, giving everything a rose tint. She felt the rest of the attack try to penetrate the barrier, but she closed her eyes and threw in her whole might into keeping the shield up, despite the inevitable cracks that started emerging. Each strike was like a hammer was being brought down and she was merely glass, her limbs shook from the exertion. Just when she thought that she couldn’t take it anymore, that she would fail and then they would all die, the attack suddenly stopped. Opening her eyes, she saw the view of the Lancer in a red haze, he was back on the ground, trembling with exertion, seemingly shouting about something but she wasn’t sure what. Then, the tension suddenly released from the Lancer’s body, and he gave her an unreadable expression before dissolving in a blue shimmer.

Her vision started swimming as she saw Lancelot’s broken form, crawling over to him, trying to turn him over but she couldn’t. She collapsed over him, pressing into him to try to see if he was still alive, still with them. Blood oozed out of his body, making a puddle around them, a stark contrast to the grey pavement. The red soaked through her shirt and pants but she couldn’t bring herself to care about it. Silence permeated the air, a heavy one that sang of dread. She felt moisture on her face and distantly she realized that she was crying. Diarmuid was trying to pull her off of him, voice also heavy with panic but she couldn’t hear him. Suddenly her head was jerked up and she was forced to make eye contact with him. 

“I’ll carry him. You carry the other one,” he said.

Distantly she recognized that he was crying too, though she couldn’t do anything about it herself right now. She nodded and got up, in a daze returning to their consort and heaving him up again. Diarmuid dragged Lancelot onto his back and then they were off, running as fast as they could now regardless of anyone’s comfort.

When their home came into view she almost cried out in relief. Diarmuid picked up the pace, surpassing her now despite his increased weight, and didn’t even bother to use the door, just hopping straight over the gate and into the yard. She was almost drained of magic, and as such she had to settle with fumbling with her key before barging in, stumbling through the house to get to the yard. She just caught Diarmuid dropping Lancelot in with a splash, and she followed quickly after, not sure what she could offer to the pool in this state but needing to try regardless. She couldn’t see Lancelot, and for a moment was afraid of him drowning, but then checked and saw he was still getting oxygen, somehow. She propped the other man up on some rocks before diving after him. As soon as she entered she felt her vision go black around the edges, and she hit her head against a rock. Diarmuid pulled her out.

“I don’t want you dying on me too because you tried to do too much, don’t go in there.” He placed her on the edge of the pool.

Not even having the strength to fight him, she laid on her side and watched the pool, barely hanging onto consciousness. Sometime later, she didn’t know when something warm was draped across her and she finally succumbed to the darkness pulling at her mind.

_She startled awake, seeming to have been spacing out, the roar of the crowd jostling her into the land of the living. She tightened her hand and realized she was holding somebody else’s. She looked over to find Guinivere sitting in a similar throne as to herself. She was looking ahead with a worried expression but looked back to give her a smile, squeezing her hand. She looked forward again. They were in an arena of some sort, stone seats lined with cheering people, all weaving colorful flags of some sort. In the middle, a jousting competition was being set up. On one end, a man with fancy armor was mounting a horse plated with gold, and a bright blue lance to go along with it. On the other end, Lancelot, who she almost didn’t recognize because his hair was shorter and lighter, looking like it was fully purple, was mounting a brown horse with purple armor, accented with gold. Around his arm, two banners were tied, one white and one red, and someone had taken the time to put flowers into his hair. He must’ve felt someone looking at him, because he looked up, sitting up straighter on his mount as he made eye contact with her. Guinevere tightened her grip more on her hand. She nodded, without making the exact decision to do so, and Lancelot’s eyes widened, and he nodded back as well. From this distance, she could tell he carried himself with an air of confidence as he directed himself towards his opponent. A small squire came in between the long post holding a bright yellow cloth. He held it up high and yelled something, though she couldn’t hear, then dropped it, running out of the way quickly as both contestants charged. Both horses rushed towards each other, and in a flash, it was over, Lancelot stayed true on his mount, throwing off the other man on his steed and sent him to the ground. The crowd cheered, and the squire who started the duel seemed especially ecstatic. Lancelot drank up the applause, trotting the horse around and waving the lance. Once again he looked up to where she was sitting. Guinivere slipped her hand out of her grasp to clap, seemingly polite but she could feel the nervous energy coming off of her. She stood up, again feeling like she wasn’t controlling the movement, and gave a bow in Lancelot’s direction. Lancelot stopped his horse suddenly, staring up at them, a wide grin emerging on his face as he let their approval wash over him._

_Tears sprung unwarranted into her eyes, the heaviness that seemed to weigh him down was no longer there, and instead, he could throw himself completely into defending someone else’s honor without worrying about his mistakes. She wanted to cry, but it was like her body physically couldn’t let her do anything else besides stand there._

_Then, the sky darkened suddenly, and a wave of arrows came down like a hurricane, tearing into Lancelot and his horse, body jerking as it fell to the ground. Now in control of her movements again, she leaped onto the edge of the alcove and jumped down, but gravity took her farther than she meant to, and she fully cleared the arena at the other side. She turned around to run to him but found that the space was completely empty, and Lancelot and his horse were nowhere to be seen. Instead, she found Lancer there, staring at her with that unreadable expression he had before disappearing._

_“What, little lady,” he said, “Did you think we were actually human?”_

_He casually threw his spear at her and it pierced her heart, the feeling of brambled thorns emerging in her chest._

She bolted upward, struggling to get out from underneath the blanket before she realized where she was. The stone had dug into her back so much it started to hurt, and she looked around, trying to find her servants. She found Diarmuid tending to the bug man, the same spot where she left him earlier trying to get him to drink some of her origin. He looked the same as before, half dead but somehow still alive.

And tucked in the corner, facing away from them, was Lancelot. She stared at him. The relief of seeing him alive made her heart ache. However, it also ached for a much more negative reason too. There was no _need_ for him to pull something like that, she was going to transport them away! But he risked his life for no reason, they almost _lost him_. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes as she recalled him bleeding on the ground, the second time she was almost too late in saving someone.

Not trusting herself to say anything good to Lancelot, she got up, the movement making both his and Diarmuid’s head turn and she stomped into the house. Lancelot looked over at Diarmuid, who shrugged and followed her inside.

He found her in the kitchen, rifling through the cupboards until she found a box of oreos she got from the American section and started eating them. Diarmuid came in a few seconds later.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hello,” she attempted to say through oreo, though what came out was ‘hemwumf.’

“Lancelot’s fine, the injuries were serious but thanks to you have healed nicely. Our friend may need some finer care though.”

“What’s up with Bugs? He’s Bugs now by the way.” She hopped onto the counter.

Diarmuid looked at her like he wanted her to say something else but then answered, “He’s been in the pool for just as long as Lancelot, who _also_ sustained _heavy_ injuries, but has shown no sign of improvement. You know, unlike Lancelot, who’s outside.”

She knew exactly what he was doing, but she’d rather not talk to or about him if she was just going to say something nasty.

“Alright well, we gotta check on Bugs then.” She hopped down from the counter.

He sighed but followed her out.

When they went back out again, Lancelot perked up and attempted to call out to her, but she deliberately ignored him and went to go check on the now dubbed Bugs. Lancelot dragged himself out of the pool, dripping with water, and wandered over to them.

“He’s been in the pool forever and hasn’t shown any signs of healing,” Lancelot said

Amilia ran a scan over him and found that he was right, there were practically no changes in his readings since they first put him in there.

“What’s up with you, Bugs?” she mumbled.

“Bugs? That’s a rather cruel nickname don’t you think?” Lancelot attempted to joke.

A flash of irritation spiked at that, but she didn’t say anything. 

“Diarmuid. Help me bring him inside,” she said as she put a hand underneath his arm.

“As you wish, _Master_ ,” Diarmuid said, making eye contact with Lancelot, who looked more than a little worried. “Go ahead and change your clothes,” Diarmuid called over his shoulder to Lancelot as they brought him indoors. 

Lancelot nodded and went to do just that.

Together they carried him inside, which really meant Diarmuid carried him inside and Amilia had one arm on him like she was helping. They laid him right on the low table and cleared away as much clothing as she could without making him naked. She brought a small pail of her origin from the pool and, after setting some towels down, poured her origin directly onto his skin and attempted to ‘push’ it down into his skin. The result was Bugs winced in pain and a bug bubbled and burst forth from his skin and onto the towels, almost causing her to vomit.

Regardless, she picked up the squirming creature and set up a magic scrying spell on it, essentially to try to deduce what was going on with it. She found a creature almost entirely built of magical circuits, acting as a nervous system of sorts, she had never seen anything like it before. She hummed, inspecting it.

“What is it?” Lancelot asked.

“Can you still heal him?” Diarmuid asked at the same time.

“Yeah, I think I can still heal him,” Amilia answered, “This will require more tact than I’m used to though.” She turned to Diarmuid, “Can you do me a favor, and go back to where we found him and gather any other bugs that are still there? I think I know what to do.”

Diarmuid nodded, looking between the two of them before disappearing.

An awkward silence emerged between the two of them, and Amilia was very aware of Lancelot’s presence over her shoulder as she patched up the wound that the bug caused and attempted to figure out the bug situation. At one point she attempted to get up to get more origin only to almost run into him, she teleported just behind him with a huff, slamming the door on the way out.

“Amilia…” he mumbled, frowning. Ever since he recovered it’s like her attitude had completely shifted towards him. He was looking forward to the prospect of teaching her how to sword fight but now it looked like that wouldn’t be a possibility. What happened? Was she mad that he couldn’t get to her sooner, that the Lancer almost killed her? He tried his best, the Berserker was keeping them both occupied. He had kept her safe though, surely she saw that? _Well, this was bound to happen eventually, there’s only so much of you people can stand._

He watched as she came back in, still ignoring him, and she set the bug in a small resin-like bowl, then brought out a scalpel before digging into it, dissecting it like a frog, pinning the sides to the bowl with magic.

“It’s funny how you’re so afraid of them but can still do stuff like that no problem.” He attempted again to lighten the mood, only to see her frown before continuing with her work, not answering him. Feeling out of place, he looked around for something to do, but couldn’t really find anything.

“I’m going to go out patrolling,” he said eventually, still not getting anything from her as she pulled something glowing from the bug and set it to float in a different resin. 

He went into spirit form to patrol. He did a few rounds of the block, including the area where they encountered the servants to find the Berserker’s Master wandering around, looking like a lost puppy. He didn’t seem like a threat, so Lancelot let him be. 

When he got back, Diarmuid was holding a bag of the sliming critters, the bag literally writhing as he set it back done by Amilia. She looked like she hadn’t moved the entire time he was gone, and didn’t even look up when Lancelot came in. Diarmuid did though.

“You find anything?” he asked.

“Berserker’s Master, but he didn’t seem to be doing anything actively malicious.” 

They both turned to her, seeing if she had anything to input, but she seemed absorbed into her task. Finally, she looked up, Lancelot getting a modicum of hope for a few moments. She turned to Diarmuid and started talking.

“So Bugs’ entire nervous system is basically shot, the bugs ate away at anything nonessential and half of the things that are essential, buuut~” She held up whatever she ripped from the bug, which looked like a glowing spider web, “These guys _entire nervous system_ is made up of magic circuits. If I can modify whatever the hell is going on with these guys, and put it on Bugs, then he can be relatively normal. He’d get a hell of a lot of magic circuits due to the extensive damage his body went through, but on the flip side, he would have to be channeling a small amount of magic just to move at _all_. If there was ever a time he ran out of magic, he’d probably die.”

“That’s amazing!” Lancelot praised before he could think about it.

Amilia smiled wide and opened her mouth like she was going to say something, before frowning and turning away again.

Lancelot frowned again, and Diarmuid sighed, taking him by the hand and leading him to his room. Closing the door, Lancelot rushed to him all nervous, wringing his hands.

“Did I say something? Why is she acting like that?”

“I don’t know,” Diarmuid responded.

“I thought we were getting along, but if I said something to offend her I might need to--”

“--Are you okay?”

The question made Lancelot stop in his tracks, Diarmuid was looking at him with what most would regard as an open expression, hands at his sides, leaning against the frame of the door, however, Lancelot couldn’t regard it with anything other than suspicion.

“What’s that’s supposed to mean, ‘Am I okay?’ Why would you ask me something like that?” Lancelot crossed his arms in front of his chest

“Lancelot, it’s just a question, I’m not attacking you.” Diarmuid took a step towards him.

Lancelot backed away from him, feeling caged all of a sudden, despite having several more feet he could retreat to before he hit a wall. Diarmuid saw the movement and planted himself, though he wanted to move forward again.

“I just don’t understand why you’re asking me that.” Lancelot barked. Diarmuid was blocking the doorway, he’d have to get around him somehow. He did have servant strength, maybe he could just crash through the wall. Wait, since when did he start planning an escape route?

“Because I’m concerned, we both are. Amilia was going to overdraw on her magic just to give you all the help you could get to recover.”

“If that’s the case, why is she acting like that?” He pointed at the wall where no doubt she was on the other side of it. “She hasn’t said anything to me since she woke up!”

Diarmuid thought on that for a moment before nodding, “Okay, yeah I’ll go talk to her.”

“You will?” He didn’t expect that to happen.

“Yeah, just stay here, give me a moment.”

He then was left alone in the room while Diarmuid went out. Lancelot brought his arms around himself tighter as his teeth started to clatter.

Walking into the living area he found Amilia hunched over the two resins, carefully splitting apart the bugs before dropping their magic circuits into the ever brightening resin of her origin. She glanced up without turning her head, but upon seeing who it was fully straightened, stretched, then got right back to work. They were silent for a few moments before Diarmuid spoke up.

“Did I ever tell you about Gráinne?” He flicked a piece of dust off of his shirt.

She perked up but continued with her work.

“She was the daughter of Cormac mac Airt, a High King. She originally was supposed to be betrothed to Fionn, but didn’t want to marry him. Instead, she ran off with me.” He sighed, he had a point to this story, he wanted to make sure the right message came across, “She placed a geis on me because I wouldn’t go at first. She told me ‘There’s no way I’m being stuck here. They would find me and bring me back if I went on my own, but if it’s _you_ I can leave.’ I tried to reason with her, saying if she just explained her reluctance surely someone would listen to her, or in the absence of that to take control of her own life, she had the means to do it. But she’d just shake her head. I did become fond of her, but I don’t know if it was just because we were together a lot or if--” He shook his head, off-topic, “The point is, we eventually got to the point where we could live with each other. The danger was gone, but she had, _learned_ some coping strategies for when she was in Court. She was taught to never speak her mind or out of turn, and as such would always find a roundabout way to say something she could’ve been direct with. One of the things she would do is instead of stating she was cross with me about something or even acting angry, she would instead go through periods where she didn’t talk to me.”

“Where’s this story going?” Amilia asked, still hunched over the resin, scalpel in hand, but hadn’t moved in a bit.

“I’m saying I’m seeing a similar behavior with you not talking to Lancelot.”

She stood up, seething, “Well that’s different! I’m… I don’t want to say the wrong thing to him, saying something nasty is worse than not saying anything. This, I’m just being dramatic right now, I’ll get over it eventually, then I’ll talk to him again.”

“Mhm, and does he know that?”

“I--what?”

He sighed, “Amilia, she wouldn’t tell me why she was ignoring me, I would constantly second guess myself, trying to replay what I’ve done previously trying to deduce what was wrong. That kind of thing grates at your self-worth. Now, I know you don’t mean to harm him, but right now that’s happening to him. Sometimes, you just need to let the emotion out so both of you can move on.”

Was _that_ what she was doing? She was trying to help them have good lives and live well, she didn’t want to ruin that by saying harsh words to Lancelot. She didn’t know she was inadvertently being the problem. She knew her anger was irrational, so she didn’t want to subject Lancelot to it. She was being so careful, but… Diarmuid walked over when he heard her sniffling, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Why are you crying, love?”

“I--don’t” she hiccuped, “ _Know_ I--”

“Amilia, breath.” 

She took a breath, the expanding of her ribcage hurting her chest.

“Why are you crying?”

The words spilled out of her mouth like a waterfall, surprising her at how becoming a little calmer caused her to vent, “He just-- _threw_ himself in front of that attack, I was going to get us out of there and he just threw himself in front of it anyway. I thought he was going to _die_ , then I was reminded of Rika, and what happened then and I just felt so helplessthat I couldn’t save him. And _WHY THE FUCK DID HE DO THAT.”_ Her voice shook as she trembled, surprised she got that loud. Diarmuid moved so that both hands were on her shoulders, “I just didn’t want to say anything out of anger, because I knew what I was feeling was irrational. I didn’t mean to ignore him.” She forcefully made her voice even, doing so scratched at her raw throat.

“But you are. Angry I mean.” Diarmuid ducked a little to make eye contact.

She bit her lip so hard she thought she started bleeding, tears rolling down the sides of her cheek as she nodded. Diarmuid made a sympathetic noise and drew her in, crushing her against his chest, holding her in a warm embrace, one hand on her back and the other on her head. The kind gesture made her break completely and she cried against him until all her tears were done. Diarmuid giving soothing gestures through it all.

“Sometimes,” he spoke eventually, “Emotions don’t always follow reason, but that doesn’t mean you should ignore how you feel. So long as it’s channeled correctly.”

All she could do was nod. Then came the sound of the door to the bedroom opening and closing. Amilia backed away from him quickly, feeling guilty for some reason, and she wiped the tears from her eyes. She went to leave the room, but Diarmuid stopped her.

“Stay in here for a bit. I want to talk to him first.”

She nodded, and he left.

Walking out, Diarmuid found Lancelot in the hallway, pacing back and forth. His expression turned hopeful when Diarmuid walked out, but he merely made a shushing sign and ushered him back into his room.

“Is she okay?” Lancelot asked nervously.

“She’s quite cross with you.” Diarmuid folded his arms.

“She is?”

“Oh, the ‘throwing yourself in front of a deadly attack when she was about to teleport us away’ might have something to do with it.” Diarmuid couldn’t help the small amount of snark that snuck its way in. 

“Ah.”

Now here comes the part where _Diarmuid_ had to be truthful, but he also wanted to say it right, “Lancelot, we feel when our Master uses magic as servants, we know vaguely what she wants to do. You _did_ feel her start that teleportation spell, right?”

“I did...” 

“Then why?”

“I… didn’t know if she would be able to cast it in time.” He felt like he was lying, but he wasn’t. Was he?

“Did you? Or do you feel like there’s so little worth to your life that throwing it away is always the first option for you?” Diarmuid quirked an eyebrow.

“I guess, yeah,” he rubbed at the back of his head, “That it was the first thing I thought of.” His body just moved, there wasn’t really _any_ thought behind it.

A shiver started to work its way throughout Lancelot’s body, and he found himself trembling. He wrapped his arms around himself, turning his back to Diarmuid. He really fucked up, hadn’t he? He tried to make up for his flaws as a person and he ended up hurting everyone. Just as always, things went wrong and it’s his fault they went wrong. His teeth started to clatter. _A_ _dull, insignificant thing you are, you caused grief again you--_

A hand was placed on Lancelot’s shoulder.

“Hey, look, she’s angry but it comes from a place of concern. I’m concerned too, Lancelot.”

Lancelot turned to see Diarmuid’s kind eyes looking back at him, and a sort of yearning dawned in his chest. He shrugged off the hand and walked away from him, resolving to ignore it, but then his name was being called again and it crumbled quickly. His damnation had always been how weak his resolutions were, he couldn’t muster the willpower to ignore it. He felt like splintered glass, one blow away from crumbling away altogether as he reached his hands out in a question he hoped to God he didn’t have to verbalize. Diarmuid’s eyes widened, and the message was received loud and clear, he reached up to pull him down into a hug. Lancelot, buried his face in Diarmuid’s shoulder, not caring about how he had to bend due to his height.

_You’re relying on others to make you feel alright again, look at how much you’re inconveniencing them by being so needy. You need to be able to deal with your own problems._

Lancelot squeezed tighter.

“Look, I understand.” Diarmuid said into his hair, “The tendency to disregard yourself, it’s a feeling I’m familiar with. It’s hard to find a reason to live for yourself sometimes.”

Diarmuid’s breath tickled his ear, and the sound of his voice made soothing rumbles in his chest. Lancelot closed his eyes and leaned in more, trying to listen but also wanting Diarmuid to just keep talking.

“That’s why you have to find other reasons to live sometimes.”

Lancelot opened his eyes, “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Diarmuid patted his back as he thought, “Other people love you, and want you to continue to be around. If you can’t find a reason to live for yourself, then living for other people can be fine for a bit. As long as you stay alive.”

Lancelot let the words sink in, and they actually were making a lot of sense. For other people...yes, he thinks he can do something like that. 

He nodded.

“Yeah?” Diarmuid replied.

“Yeah,” Lancelot’s voice came quietly.

Diarmuid pulled away though still kept Lancelot in his arms. Even so, he felt the absence very keenly, like walking outside on a winter day after being warmed inside by the fire. His skin tingled. Diarmuid reached up to swipe at his cheek like he was brushing away a tear.

“Then I think the two of you need to talk.”

He nodded and Diarmuid finally pulled away, no doubt to go fetch her. He was abandoned to the cold bite of the wind. 

A little bit later, Amilia emerged, looking embarrassed as all hell, and also like she was crying. She came in, and Diarmuid looked between them before leaving them be. They sat across from each other, neither knowing how to start the conversation.

Amilia took a breath, “It… it was wrong for me to ignore you. I thought if I didn’t have anything nice to say to you then I shouldn’t say it at all, but you had no way of knowing that. I put you through unnecessary hurt.”

“I’m sorry--”

“It’s--” _It’s okay_ was on the tip of her tongue, but wait. Her first instinct was to focus on Lancelot, and to accept his apology, try to move on as quickly as possible. But is that what she _should_ do?

_Nothing is set in stone, but it is set in the divots in an old dirt road._

Her first instinct might not be the right move here, after all, she listened to her first instinct and got them here in the first place.

What should she do? She didn’t want to be vulnerable, didn’t want him to think he had to comfort her. But she was so _hurt_.

She started to cry again, and Lancelot reached out to her. She wanted to pull away, not wanting him to see her weak, but that’s not what she should do, is it?

She let him tug on her wrist and pull her into a hug.

She could do this. She could be vulnerable, she could be human.

“Iwas going to cast a teleportation spell to get us away from Lancer. You _distracted_ me from casting that spell and subsequently almost got yourself _killed_.”

“I’m--” He put a hand on her head, “I moved on instinct.”

“Why is that your first instinct? Don’t you know we care about you and want you here?”

“I--” The words felt untrue to his ears, so he instinctively wanted to say no, but some part, some desperate part told him she wasn’t lying. “I don’t know.”

“Because you want to kill yourself?” She pulled away to look at him.

The shame burned his eyes and he looked away from her, not wanting to see her face. The blunt words cut farther than any blade ever had. All he could do in the face of this abyss was nod. His legs felt weak, and he found himself falling to his knees in front of her.

“I think I..inherently _need_ to be punished for what happened, how I cast Camelot into the pits of hell.” He was trembling again. “I don’t know how else I can atone for it.” 

Amilia’s eyes softened as she practically fell over top of him into another hug. She brought her hands around his head, burying them into his hair.

“I’m sorry for saying it so harshly,” she mumbled, “I… can’t take away what happened in that time for you, but I can say that our lives are better with you in them. If nothing else, stay alive for that reason.”

Fool she was, thinking some gifts and supporting words would take away their trauma. She supposed a part of her was angry at herself too, for hearing what Diarmuid said but not doing anything about it. Lancelot brought his shaking hands to grip her shoulders, and they held each other like that for a while. He eventually spoke, quiet but resolute.

“I will.”

It was sometime later that Lancelot’s weight went slack against her, and she pulled away from him to find him asleep, the crease in his brow smoothed out in slumber. She laid him down and brought his blanket around him, gently tip-toeing out of the room. Looking back at him, her eyes stung at how peaceful he looked. Wiping away a tear, she flipped off the light and quietly closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the inspiration for Lancelot's jousting armor from starmoths on Tumblr, they did a fate alternative zine a couple of years back with it. It's very pretty.
> 
> I want to avoid, I don't know how to label it, inner team *drama* for the sake of it as much as possible, but I do feel that conflict, especially with these characters is sort of necessary. So this chapter got a bit heavier at the end, and there will be some scenes along the same lines in the future. As always, thank you for reading, leave a comment, and let me know what you think!


	12. Bug Lore

Lancelot was sick for three days after that. It was honestly an absolute nightmare. He buried himself under ten different blankets and somehow would still complain about being cold. Amilia got him a combination of a heated and weighted blanket, which finally got him to calm down. She’d go in with a cloth and find him curled onto his side, dozing with a slight flush on his cheeks. Strangely, he asked for ice cream repeatedly, despite the fact she was sure he had never had ice cream as a servant, possibly his whole life. She’d place it next to his pillow to turn around and find it absorbed underneath his mountain of blankets.

Bugs was also in the stages of recovery. After she had separated all the nervous system magic circuits from the bugs, she laid him carefully back down in the origin pool, layered the circuits overtop of his own, and stitched them to his body. It was a painfully tedious process, but one she could tell was working.

On the first day, Bugs regained movement in his neck. He turned it as she entered the pool area. The next day, he could sit up on his own. Before she got to his head with the magic circuits, he always retained a sort of vacant, dissociative stare, one that reminded her of a dead man. At one point, she was layering a circuit into his eye, which required such careful tact because she didn’t want to damage what little was left. When she was done, he blinked as if she put a contact in and looked right at her. The circuit gave off a green glow to his eye. She could see the running magic if she looked closely enough. That was the general trend to the more destroyed part of his body, the more the circuits had to replace the more visible they were, which created an almost two-faced effect, one side a regular face, the other looked like he tattooed it with glow-in-the-dark ink. Despite all this, he had very kind eyes, and she found herself wondering how a man like this got into the situation that he did.

She was layering some circuits over his throat when he made a disturbing gurgling noise that caused her to lurch back, afraid she’d hurt him. He gripped her arm and sat up, making the gurgling sound again before pointing to his throat.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

He shook his head, pointing again, opening and closing his mouth.

“Do you...want to tell me something?”

He nodded.

She went inside to go get him a piece of paper, only realizing after she grabbed it that she spoke English to him, but he understood perfectly. _So he’s bilingual then, one thing we know about him._

She set the paper and pen on the table and went to retrieve him from the pool. He needed help as his magic circuit side wasn’t fully operational yet. She wrapped a towel around him and brought him indoors, placing him in front of the table. While he was writing, she went to check on Lancelot, knocking this time. She heard Diarmuid telling her to enter, and she found him wringing out a wet cloth while Lancelot looked up at him blearily.

“Hey, do you need anything?”

Lancelot gave what she thought was a shake of the head but was executed more like a jerk, “No, I--” he interrupted himself with a cough, “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Okay, onion’s soup is on the menu, if that’s okay?”

He smiled up at her, “That’ll be perfect, thank you.” He attempted to sit up, but Diarmuid put a hand to his chest and pushed him back down, Lancelot not even giving any resistance.

“Easy there, big guy, don’t want to pass out again, do you?”

Lancelot shook his head.

Diarmuid brought the covers back underneath his chin, “Then I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

Lancelot nodded and closed his eyes.

Amilia motioned for Diarmuid to follow her, and reluctantly he left Lancelot’s side.

“Bugs is walking around now,” she said, leading them back to him.

Bugs had his head resting against the table when they walked back in but sat up again once he heard them. He motioned for Amilia to come over, gesturing to the paper a couple of times. She picked it up to read it.

_Do you know my name?_ It read.

She shook her head, and he looked disappointed. It didn’t surprise her that he had amnesia. Half of his brain was probably eaten by those insects. It would only make sense some things got lost in the shuffle.

“What exactly do you remember?” Diarmuid asked.

Bugs thought for a moment, several moments actually, before shaking his head again.

“I do know this,” Amilia said, not knowing how much solace that this would provide. Bugs perked up. “You were a Master in what was called the ‘Holy Grail War,’ here--” She dug around her stuff and brought out the book on it, which he took with curiosity. “You can read more about it there. As to what grail war you were a part of, we don’t know. But that’s the only thing we have linking you to an identity.”

Bugs nodded and started sifting through the book, carefully thumbing the pages before turning them. Then, surprisingly he looked up and rasped out, “Thank you.” Before being sent into a fit of coughing. She placed a hand on him to check for any serious ailments, but he seemed to stop after a little bit on his own. They left him to his reading, going back to their other patient.

“How is he?” Lancelot asked.

“I think he’s doing really well, actually. He’s recovering much faster than I initially thought.” Amilia couldn’t help but say that with a bit of pride.

“That’s good,” Lancelot coughed.

Diarmuid resumed his station at his side with the wet cloth, then Amilia heard a crash from the other room.

Two half dying people to take care of. What joy! She thought as she walked back to take care of whatever it was.

The days seem to be going by rather quickly. Bugs gained more and more autonomy as the days progressed, gaining more speech and the like. Lancelot, like Diarmuid, only took a few days to snap out of his sickness, and before Amilia knew it, they were training on the little lawn, practicing different sword maneuvers.

They were in one such training now. Amilia tried to remember all the drills he had been teaching her as they faced off once again. Lancelot lunged, and she attempted to sidestep, but he stuck his foot out and swept her off of her feet.

“Widen your stance.”

“It is wide!” she whined.

“Wider, your center of gravity needs to be lower.”

She got back up again and attempted to do as he said, but he walked over and physically pushed down on her shoulders and used his feet to place hers farther apart.

“You feel that?” he asked, placing a hand on her back.

“Um, not really,” she admitted.

“You need to think of yourself as a rock. Whatever happens, the opponent will not move you. Focus on your core.”

As he said that, she did notice she was flexing her abs a bit more. Maybe that was what he was talking about? She nodded at him, and he went to the other side of her again.

He launched forward with the same attack as before, and this time she was able to bring her sword up for a parry and followed it up with a swipe that came to rest under his chin.

He grinned down at her, and she actually felt accomplished, even though she knew that he was undoubtedly holding back by an extreme amount.

“Good!” he said, “Now do that again.”

He ended up making her repeat that _exact_ move no less than twenty times. By the end of it, she was tired and on the verge of collapse, but also felt strangely good, like she accomplished something.

“You done?” Lancelot asked.

“Yeah, I think I’m done.” Amilia relented. He helped her to her feet.

As they entered the kitchen, the smell of wafting food hit the air, and she felt her mouth-watering. Once Bugs was able to get up and move around, he took care of the house for them while they did Grail War stuff. She almost felt bad about making him do things for her until Diarmuid told her it might be him trying to find his footing in the world again.

“Hello!” Bugs said, not turning around. “You guys are all done with training?”

“Yeah, I think we’re done.” She collapsed into a chair.

Bugs turned to start setting the table, pouring some water in a cup for her, and the luminous half of his face stuck out to her as always. It’s not that it looked bad, per se. It could’ve been worse. It was just a very stark difference for her.

“Thank you,” she said.

“No problem!” he said happily, going back to his task.

There was a sound of the door opening and closing, and Bugs walked over to the door. As he did so, she noticed that he walked with a slight limp to his step, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. She took a sip of her water, humming. She hoped that didn’t signify worse issues.

“Hello, Diarmuid!” She heard Bugs call out.

“Hello, Bugs,” came Diarmuid’s reply. He had been out doing a patrol, watching out for anything suspicious, it is Master, Servant, or something else.

_Nothing to report,_ he told her as he walked into the kitchen, then made a beeline for the food cooking on the stove.

“Bugs, this looks great!” he praised.

Bugs looked very happy with himself as he wiped his hands on the apron they got him.

“Thank you! I thought I’d try something new. I hope you all like it!”

“I’m sure we will,” Lancelot interjected, having come back from his room in new clothing.

The food got done shortly after, and they all dug in quickly, all having one reason or another to be hungry. As Amilia looked at her group as they sat around the table, she was struck by how weird this probably looked to an outsider, but at the same time, it was pleasant as well. She didn’t know where exactly Bugs came from (or even when, which was a good question too), but she felt he was a good guy in her heart.

She hoped the retrieval of his memories would be something to look forward to, but given the Grail War’s nature that didn’t seem very likely. She frowned at the thought. She wondered if Kirei Kotomine had anything to do with him, whether he wanted him just because he wanted Grail masters (and whatever goal he had in mind for that) or if it were more personal. The fact that he forced his Lancer to try to kill her once she refused told her it might be the latter. She stabbed a piece of meat rather forcefully before chewing on it. She wouldn’t let him get to Bugs, no matter what. She decided that right now.

“Heyyyy” A hand was being waved in front of her face.

She blinked, “What?”

“We were talking about what that Ozymandias guy would want, why he would send out an invite like that. Any thoughts?”

She put down her fork (she wasn’t able to use chopsticks yet), “He just seems like an arrogant bastard who wants to show off that he’s better than everyone. Can’t do that when there’s no crowd to be better than.” _Though the respecting wife bit is interesting._ She mused.

Diarmuid laughed, “And Amilia puts it so plainly! Yes, that’s what I was thinking too! The problem is, in my experience, the arrogant ones actually have the firepower to back it up. My question is, how do we counter whatever his power is?”

Amilia got up and went to get her tablet in the other room, as well as a couple books she picked up from the library. She pulled up the article she’d been reading and handed the books off to her servants.

“I’ve been reading up a little on this guy. His other name is apparently Ramses, and is a big bible figure.” she tapped the side of the tablet, “His most notable legend, according to the Christian Bible, is how he drove the Israelites out of Egypt. His counter, Moses parted the red sea and swallowed his army.” She looked to each of them to see if they’re following along. Diarmuid was just holding the book given to him and nodding. Lancelot was flipping through it causally. Bugs looked like he wanted to ask for the book Diarmuid had but didn’t know how to. She leaned forward to tap the book and pointed at Bugs, and Diarmuid handed the book off.

“Most of the accounts list him as riding a chariot, so I think he’s probably a rider. The thing is, there’s really nothing of note in terms of a physical power that he wielded. That went to Moses.”

“There’s no way that he can’t have a noble phantasm, though.” Diarmuid pointed out.

Amilia lifted a finger, “Nothing of note, _except_ the land he was ruling as a whole. His people.”

“You think his noble phantasm is the manifestation of his kingship?” Lancelot asked, “That’s sort of a vague concept. What would that look like?”

“I’m not sure, but we should probably expect something abstract as that. It might not even be a weapon, officially, though it might have _uses_ as a weapon.”

“Okay, now you lost me,” Diarmuid informed her.

She shook her head, “Just… it’s probably not a singular weapon, so don’t look to his person so much and try to figure it out from that. Be more abstract.”

“It might be like, his palace or something.” Bugs spoke.

They all turned to him.

“What do you mean?” Amilia asked.

“Well, I mean…” Bugs scratched his head, “Pharaohs are often in palaces, right? And that would be a, pretty big symbol of one's rulership, the fancy building you live in. So maybe it’s that?”

“How would you weaponize that though?” Diarmuid asked.

“Probably how you’d fortify any other city.” Lancelot provided.

“Hmm okay. So look out for a giant city if he tries to use it. Got it.” Amilia nodded, closing her eyes. Though that sounded scary in theory, in practice it should be fine? There’s less finesse one can pull off if an entire city is your weapon, and they could probably sneak around easier.

“...Which leads us to our next point.” Diarmuid started.

Amilia opened her eyes to look at him.

“I do think it would be a good idea to have us both go. Of course there would still be the problem of appearing to have two servants, but my suggestion is… Maybe Bugs can pretend to be one of our Masters?” Diarmuid proposed, not really sure how it would go.

Bugs looked hopeful at that.

“No.” Amilia immediately shot it down.

Diarmuid sighed as if he were expecting that but defended his position anyway.

“It would allow both of us to stay by your side, so you have all the artillery you need.”

“I think its too dangerous for him right now. That priest guy is still running around and I don’t want him captured.”

“But Amilia, really--”

“I would _like_ to go,” Bugs piped up. “Just to see what this Grail War thing is all about. Though I do understand your concern,” he laughed nervously.

Well now she was at a dilemma. Its not like she could just force him against his will. But this really was a _bad_ idea.

Though she supposed Kotomine already knew where she lived, maybe it was best she took him along.

“Hmm, alright.” She conceded, Diarmuid pumping his fist at that. She turned to Bugs, “But I’m going to teach you some attack spells, alright?”

“...Magic?” Bugs asked.

“Um, yeah?” she asked, “Is that alright?”

“I… don’t remember if I ever used magic.”

“I mean you probably did. You do have magical circuits so you must’ve used a _little_ at the very least.” Though, the state that they were in… suggested overexertion in a short amount of time. That had t have been painful to go through. Maybe his reluctance comes from an unremembered trauma?

“Just one or two, so you’re not defenseless. And we’ll stop if you can’t go any farther.”

Bugs absorbed that, and then nodded, “Okay yeah… Yeah I can do that.”

“Great!” She clapped her hands together. “Tomorrow, we’ll start fresh!”

That was met with hearty agreement, and then after the dishes were taken care of, they all went to bed. Bugs had taken the room in the middle of the hallway. Before he retreated, he stopped Amilia.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Do you… do you think…Who I am with my memories, do you think that person is a good person?”

Wow, a hell of a question. She didn’t want to give him something just to placate him, so she thought about it. “I think… Speaking very literally, we don’t have enough information to go off of.”

He looked crestfallen at that, and she jumped in to assure him, “But it’s not like who you are right now is ‘fake’ either. This is you stripped of all the things that you had to do or were coerced to do. And that seems to fundamentally be a good person. Even if you get your memories back, don’t throw your experience here away as not being you. Because it is. We all show ourselves in fragments. It’s just right now you’re a fragment to yourself too. Pay attention to the pieces you give.”

He absorbed her words carefully as if it were a curious insect that decided to land on his finger. Eventually, he nodded and looked up at her, his face casting strange shadows in the dark.

“Thank you.”

“Why this all of a sudden?” she asked.

He frowned, and she almost thought he wouldn’t say, but eventually, he spoke, and she’d be lying if a certain chill is she said that a certain chill from the air didn’t wash down her spine.

“I just can’t shake the feeling that I’ve done something. Something awful. And if you knew what it was you wouldn’t forgive me. I don’t know if I’d forgive myself.”

And with that, he closed the door behind him, leaving her with a hollow wind that spoke of nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! A Chapter!  
> I apologize for the hiatus, school was really kicking my ass for the last month or two, but I'm done now! So hopefully I'll be uploading more. My next semester should hopefully be a bit easier so that doesn't happen again.
> 
> This chapter is shortish and may be sort of jumbled around, I was halfway through writing it before but then stopped so it might be disconnected. I may edit it later.
> 
> In the meantime thank you for whoever's sticking around for this I appreciate it! Thank you for reading and commenting!


	13. The Gold to Other's Silver

She ended up being able to teach Bugs three new spells, a simple shield spell, a magic blast spell, and an invisibility spell. The last one was a bit more advanced, but one of the side effects of the procedure she did on him was that his magic circuits got a lot more use out of them than they did before, and had a higher output to boot. More magic, but more he had more of a reliance on it for day to day activities. Some mages would kill for that sort of trade-off. Amilia just thought it was sad.

They practiced near the pool for the most part so that Bugs could recharge if he got too tired. He gave no mention to what he said to Amilia last night, and though it was nagging at her, she didn’t really want to bring it up either. On the other side of the house, she heard blades clashing, signifying that Lancelot and Diarmuid were practicing. They had been doing that a lot lately. She wasn’t really sure, but she figured it was some sort of bonding thing for them. 

She looked back to Bugs, whose brow was furrowed in concentration, and pointing his hands towards the ground. She thought he was doing another blast spell and was just about to warn him not to when suddenly a beam of light erupted from his hands, and he lifted several inches off of the ground before it gave out and he landed heavily. He turned to her, ecstatic.

“Did you see that!”

“I did!” she grinned. “You learned the levitation spell, good job!”

He laughed a little breathlessly before trying again, this time gaining a bit more height before dropping again.

“That’s so fun! This is fun!”

“Careful now, don’t want to overexert yourself. Your magical circuits are still unaccustomed to heavy use.”

He nodded before sitting down again, taking a swig from the water bottle he had placed beside himself. She, in turn, sat across from him, soaking up the bright sun and cool breeze.

“I never thought it would be like that,” Bugs spoke eventually.

“What would be like that?” she responded, leaning back to rest on her hands.

“Magic. Like, I never thought it could be fun like that. That I would enjoy doing it.”

“Yeah, most mages would like to pretend it's a super-serious thing that you can’t derive enjoyment out of. But in reality, it’s just a fun thing to fuck around with a little bit.”

He nodded again, and she realized something about what he said.

“Wait, that’s a sign.” She got up and retrieved a journal from the house. On the front cover, it read “Bug Lore” In big, bold letters.

“What’s a sign?” he asked as she sat down again and started scribbling in it.

“That you didn’t think it would be fun. Something gave you that preconceived notion of it being boring.” She ignored the passage that read ‘Thinks he did something wrong.’ and wrote down, ‘Thought magic wouldn’t be fun.’ underneath ‘Bilingual.’

“Ohh, I see.” He tapped his chin. “Yes, I do think I sort of assumed that. But I think that’s wrong now. We’ll see what Memory Me thinks about that.”

As she was writing, Lancelot and Diarmuid came back around the corner. Diarmuid had slung his arm over Lancelot’s shoulders and was adamantly explaining something to him, while Lancelot listened with a small smile on his face, hand-wrapped almost hesitantly around the other’s waist.

“Hey! How did training go?” Diarmuid asked when they got close enough

“Pretty good! We’ve got four whole spells now. I think it should be good for the meetup tonight.”

“Just in time, too,” Lancelot commented.

“Yeah, right?” Amilia laughed.

“So who’s getting who?” Diarmuid asked.

“Ahhhh,” Amilia thought about it for a few moments. “Bugs with… Diarmuid I think. There’s a subtle way a Master can tell another Master is exerting magic for a servant. It would be easier to explain my larger magic output if I had Lancelot than the other way around.”

“Alright,” Diarmuid turned to Bugs, “Does that sound good?”

“Fine with me!” he chirped, casting a small magic orb between his fingers and tossing it back and forth like it was a baseball.

They all piled into the car that Lancelot (read, Amilia) bought for transportation, and headed to the Fuyuki bridge. There was an old shipyard that was a little ways off, which Amilia thought might be a good vantage point.

“What do we think about over there?” she asked as they passed it.

Diarmuid took one sparring glance (he was the one driving), and practically spat, “No absolutely the fuck not.” and stepped on the gas a bit, startling her.

She didn’t expect such a visceral reaction from him, and any conversation came to a grinding halt at that.

He instead drove them to the shores of the ocean, from which the bridge can be clearly seen. They got out in silence, and Amilia sat down to start setting up a beacon, lest something went array and they needed to transport themselves out. There were a set of bracelets that required to be worn in order to work. She activated them and handed them out to everyone, Lancelot and Bugs taking them without question, but when she got to Diarmuid, he was facing away from her. 

She went to tap him on the shoulder, but his hand shot out and grabbed it before she could, him fixing her with a steely glare, until he registered what she held, and released it, allowing her to slip the bracelet onto his wrist. This is how early-summoned Diarmuidn would act, not how she’d grown accustomed to him over the past few weeks. She pursed her lips at the thought. It’s not the… prospect of this next encounter, she doesn’t think. Nothing gave her the indication confronting servants gave him anxiety like this, and he seemed genuinely interested in meeting this individual in particular. So she doesn’t think it was that.

He huffed and turned away from her once she was done, and she sensed he might want some time to himself for right now. No big deal, she could do that. There was the issue of him acting like this in Ozymandias’ “kingdom” but had the forefront of knowing that this was a deeper issue that needed to be addressed, not just an inconvenient set of actions. She walked over to Bugs and started giving him a defense buff, just if one of his new spells failed him. Lancelot walked over to Diarmuid and put an arm around him, which startled the other man before leaning into it. Well, alright, as long as someone’s there to comfort him, she thought as she waved her hands over Bugs.

Suddenly, it got quiet, so unnaturally so that the stillness in the air was as loud as roaring drums. The others notice, too, given how they picked up their heads and started swiveling them around. Amilia stood up and walked to the edge of the shore, waiting. Then, a flash of light, so bright that it burned her retinas, erupted from the opposite shore. A pillar of gold shot up into the sky, condensing down until it resembled a shooting star, or perhaps a supernova. Amilia felt the ground give way from her suddenly, and she wasn’t standing on the grass anymore. She turned and found that the others were still with her, to her relief.

The light flashed and traveled down until it resembled a dimension painting, lines running closer and closer together the further from them they got. Above them, it was almost as if the same picture was being mirrored, the same lines running in the same direction. As she watched, the “roads” (if it can be called that even) split open and revealed a large eye, which blinked almost owlishly, as did its counterpart. The two images began growing closer and closer to each other until they collided into one, and it was at this point Amilia realized they weren’t roads, or lines even at all. They were two sides of a pyramid. Another flash of light occurred, and for a moment she thought she could just barely make out the silhouette of a person at the end of it. A heat that did not burn washed over her skin, and she closed her eyes.

And opened them to a large, gold, ornate hallway. She looked around, bewildered, not sure when the transition happened. She stood up to check on everyone. Diarmuid had been transported into a little alcove in the side of the hallway, he opened his eyes and carefully twisted around to exit, looking about as delirious as she felt. Bugs was lying face down in the middle of the floor, which he started, propelling himself into a seating position quickly, with a slight wince at his agitated leg. She couldn’t find Lancelot.

 _Lancelot?_ She called out, didn’t really want to try talking yet.

 _Up here_ Came his reply.

She looked up to find him in the rafters, carefully balancing his limbs between the beams, somehow still managing to look bored. He let go all at once and started falling. Amilia panicked, thinking he was going to fall on her, but he tucked and rolled at the last second, landing on the side of her.

She was just about to yell at him when she saw the barest hint of a smirk on his face and realized this was his way of joking. She hit him on the shoulder (playfully) and then set out to explore their new environment.

Gold. Everything had a tint or an accent or an outlining of gold to it, the hallway almost shone as they walked down it. Intermittently there would be a vase with a plant she didn’t recognize in it, and a picture of some abstract art above it. Actually, despite the gold decorating the entirety of it, nothing about it really stuck out to her as too over the top or glam. She supposed this Ozymandias guy liked to be more subtle when portraying his wealth.

A chime went off in the distance; the sound was so distant that Amilia thought her ears were playing tricks on her. They all looked back and forth from each other and wordlessly started walking down the hallway towards the sound. As they walked, the hallway they were in connected into a larger passageway, and they saw other Masters and Servants emerge from the framework, all looking as confused and lost as the group felt. Wordlessly, they started walking down the hallway, their numbers growing and growing as they became a silent march. There weren’t _many_ people per se, and the space of the hallway meant that none of them came close to touching each other, but Amilia couldn’t help but feel her gaze be drawn to each of them. The Masters ranged from sophisticated, to campy, to boring, and every possible combination of servants to match. They were all so unique in their own way she wanted to reach out and interact with them all.

A set of doors concluded the end of their walk, the entryway being of more humble proportions, Amilia expected to be this big archway but it seemed like a door like any other. The small group of Grail teams that had accumulated in front of the door shifted nervously about like none of them wanted to be the one that dared to open the door. Not one for waiting in suspense, or waiting for others to do something for her for that matter, Amilia strode up to the door with her small entourage and threw open the doors and stepped inside. More mutterings from the teams behind her, but then she heard footsteps as they shuffled in behind her. 

She was expecting… literally anything else to be honest. The room they entered looked like a panel room, with sets of auditorium seats and everything. All of the upholstery and carpet and the like still seemed to be of very high quality, and the room smelled vaguely of mangos, Amilia couldn’t quite shake the vibe they were about to get a PSA about bullying. Not a word had been uttered by anyone before they entered, a charged hush clapped over the room like a quiet thunder. 

Amilia looked around again only to catch the eyes of different people as their gaze flickered over her form, making it seem as if their sight had merely grazed off of them. There was a feeling of being watched, of being hunted, and in a way, Amilia supposed that wasn’t wrong. Each here viewed her as the enemy that would prevent them from taking the Grail. She looked over at her servants to find them each in a staring contest with a different person across the room, body language open in an obvious challenge as they stared the other down. Bugs looked more than a little nervous, almost hunching down in his seat, hood pulled all the way over his head as if that would block the stares.

_Lancelot, take your own advice and simmer down._

She practically felt him roll his eyes, but he turned away and hunched over in a similar fashion to Bugs. Diarmuid had to be jabbed out of his, he turned towards the stage, but not without giving an “I’m-watching-you” double finger point to the other. The other teams kept to themselves, for the most part, some hunching over to the other to quietly converse. However, even this conversation was stopped when the lights dimmed in the crowd, and several spotlights started zooming around on stage, with thematically appropriate music. They stopped suddenly on a man with Egyptian guard, wielding two scepters in each of his hands, crossing over one another. Uncrossing them to point them out from himself, the music stopped, and the lights found their home on his form. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, any and all betwixt or not!” he bellowed, “I first want to thank all of you for joining me this fine afternoon. A proposition such as this is not easy to answer, and I am honored that you all chose to brave me in the light instead of hiding in the shadows.” As he talked, he embellished with wide gestures, this was obviously a man who was used to a crowd being in front of him, and knew how to work it. 

“I have called you all here today to test your worthiness to fight me for this “Holy Grail.” By showing up you have passed the first of my tests. I recognize each and every one of my citizens, and if there is a face that I do not recognize from tonight I will strike them down without mercy. But don’t think this is your only requirement. Valor in battle shall also be appraised. What I wish from you is to battle one another and see which one comes out the victor. You need not kill each other if you don’t desire to, a mark appears on the losing party when the battle concludes. However, I shall not have you do this for no reason! No, for whom I deem the victor shall have a sort of ceasefire with me until all other foes are vanquished. I will not harm them until I am the last opponent in their way.”

A wave of murmurs accompanied that, and Amilia for one was very intrigued. The Grail War, especially this Grail War, relied on tactics and approaching enemies in the right order. You want to save the more powerful enemies for last. And this was a _very_ powerful opponent. Amilia could practically feel the waves of magic exuding off of his form, and just the fact he brought them here to this place should tell her all she needs to know about his power level. 

The only thing that can hold him back, is the capability of his Master. She sensed no presence on the stage with the Rider, but since he did not give the teams a time limit, that means he at least expects to keep this up as long as necessary. This means he’s confident his Master won’t run out of prana. That in turn means one of two things.

Either the Master is a powerhouse of magic, someone that would give Amilia a run for her money in a one-on-one fight and is an utmost threat.

 _Or_ the Master has a moderate amount of magic, but is holed up somewhere in this abode to channel all the prana necessary to allow Rider to indefinitely keep up his noble phantasm. 

_Something to consider,_ she thought, tapping her chin.

Ozymandias continued to speak, “Of course you can opt-out now, but know that you will only be marginally better off than those who haven’t shown up at all. My fury will only pull its hand a small amount.”

He waited for several moments, but no one got up.

“Good. Now, before we begin. You!”

He pointed his scepter out to the crowd, and it took several moments for Amilia to realize he was looking right at her.

She pointed to herself, honestly confused, her companions looked to her as well, all pointing between themselves and her. Honestly, it could be any of them, he was far enough away and the scepter wasn’t exactly the best for pointing. It was actually quite conceded of her to think that--

“Where do your loyalties lay?” he demanded, in a louder tone of voice than previously, suggesting he had to repeat himself.

“Loyalties?” she said in a normal speaking voice.

“Woman, you must speak up if I am to hear from you!” Ozymandias closed his eyes in frustration.

Finding her projection, she tried again, “I’m afraid I don’t understand the question!”

He was having a hard time maintaining his haughty persona with someone who’s just so awkward. Crossing his scepters again, he made a sweeping motion towards them.

“You sit among three other’s, two servants and two masters. It is unclear who is in service to who. The other teams have split themselves up so that at least one seat lays between them. But not you four. You have a prior alliance?”

No bigger than that of a cherry, a small pit settled in her stomach as she looked into the golden eyes of the man on stage. Why call attention to this? Why are they being singled out?

“I am the Master of the Berserker,” she stated, hoping that's what he wanted.

“Ah yes, and it is clear to anyone who sees that you have more than enough magic to sustain him, even if he were to lay truth to his claim as Berserker. You are the threat that the other’s are watching for here. It is clear your magecraft is not one to scoff at.”

Lancelot bared his teeth in a slight growl, which just seemed to amuse the Rider. She braced her shoulders against his words, not really knowing how to respond. The continued stares around the room told her his words were true. Well, it’s not like she was unaware.

“Your other companion has more than enough magic for his fair share as well. Your team is more formidable than anyone here combined. Now that wouldn’t be fair to the other’s, right?”

“That’s not true!” Bugs cried out, Ozymandias’ eyes flickered over to him, “I’m actually quite pathetic! I only know four spells!”

The Rider stared at him for several long moments, Bugs holding the gaze without any regard as to what he was participating in. Diarmuid reached over and patted him on the back, shaking his head.

“... Regardless,” he said, seemingly regaining his composure, “To let you four remain as one team would skew the odds in your favor.”

He snapped his fingers together, and suddenly all the other Masters were gone, it was only the four of them left in the room. Amilia shot up out of her chair and brandished her weapon, getting ready for the Rider to attack. Her servants responded in kind. Only Bugs was left sitting, but once he noticed everyone else standing too, he did as well, though he did not go into a fighting stance.

“Relax, now is not the time I shall harm you.” He waved them off, “The only handicap that I am putting on you is that you four will _not_ meet until the other is your final opponent. Two mages of unspeakable power and two servants to match cannot be expected to be allowed the other’s aid.”

“But that’s--” she started but stopped.

It made sense, from his perspective. But from hers it was worrisome. She wouldn’t be close to Diarmuid to give him aid, and she didn’t know if Bugs could handle being by himself yet. It was true he had a lot of magical capability, in theory. But none of that has been refined. 

However, there was no way to contest this without showing their hand even in the slightest. Steeling herself, she nodded and tried to not let worry gnaw at her bones. Surprisingly, the Rider laughed at that.

“I expected more of a fight! Shows you have more guts than I expected. A part of me hopes it is you I face in my final battle.”

Smirking a bit, he snapped his fingers again and the entire room went dark, except for him. And she suddenly gained the sensation that she was falling. Turning, she reached out to Lancelot, and he responded in kind, gripping her hand tight. She turned to see Diarmuid and Bugs slowly drifting away from them, Bugs holding onto Diarmuid like a koala holds onto a trunk of a tree.

The wind picked up pace around them, and they started falling faster and faster, the other pair getting further and further away until they were nothing but a speck in the distance, and soon not even that. She turned to Lancelot and clung to him, trying to fight back the pesky tears that sprung up. He allowed her to do so and even wrapped an arm around her. There was a light that was approaching at the bottom, and it suddenly got so bright that she had to shut her eyes against it. She felt Lancelot shift, and then a loud thud as they suddenly stopped falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this "arc" (i guess it's an arc?) will most likely last for the next three chapters, possibly a fourth. Some more familiar characters are going to start showing up soon, fun!
> 
> And now I ask this, which I guess can count as a poll? I plan to do both the Lancelot Amilia team and the Diarmuid Bugs team eventually, but is there a preference for what you guys want to see first? The flow kinda implies it'll be Lancelot and Amilia, but if you'd like to see the other two I can start there first!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and I hope you like it! Let me know what you think!


	14. Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: Vomit  
> Tw: Rape mention, and this one I'm going to be putting into the tags, seeing as I'm going to have a story-line involving Galahad and his mother. I was hesitant to add it at first because I wasn't sure of the exact direction I wanted to go but yee. No description of events, just aftermath stuff and talking about it.

Lancelot had her thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, arm lifted up to wrap around her. As they fell he looked to the side to see Bugs clinging to the side of Diarmuid’s body, eyes screwed shut. They were falling in an empty space until they weren’t, dropping down into an area quite similar to the hallways they were in before. Amilia twisted her body to look forward in his direction to find two servants looking straight at them, both looking shocked that the team had just popped out of nowhere. Lancelot immediately donned his armor and charged in, making quick work of one of the servants, causing the other to run off. At first, Amilia thought that Lancelot had killed him, but when he stepped away, she saw the red insignia that Ozymandias was talking about, and the servant disappeared. He placed her gently on the ground.

“Efficient,” she stated.

He grunted in turn.

“Okay. So we have one problem as of right now. Bugs and Diarmuid, they aren’t going to be in too hot of shape by themselves, so we need to get this over and done with pronto.” Amilia stuck a finger in the air.

“Logical.” He stated.

“I have a hunch that the Master is lying dormant somewhere to conserve on magic. Most likely, if they so much as wake up, the Rider won’t have enough energy to sustain his noble phantasm. Which I suspect is actually a Reality Marble.” She mumbled the last part.

“He has a familiar,” The walls said.

Amilia jumped up in the air before floating back down again (really, that’s a habit she should fix). Lancelot was also surprised but caught it better. As they looked at where the voice came from, an Assassin emerged from the walls. The same Snake Assassin that she had killed the Noble Phantasm of back in Edinburgh.

“Oh!” she pointed, “It’s-It’s you! Hello, you!”

“Hello,” she replied.

“Um, so you’re not like. Still mad, are you?” Amilia asked.

“No I--”

“Also, are you okay? My friend, he said you got beat up pretty badly when you refused to kill him. Thank you for not killing him, by the way.”

The Assassin looked surprised she had even brought it up but smiled kindly, “Yes, I’m alright, and you’re welcome. But please, I don’t have much time. My Master is conspiring with some others to kill the Rider’s Master, to take him out of the picture for good. I don’t want that to happen.”

“Wait, so you’re helping us?”

“Yes, though I can’t do much. I sense a strength within you, and I trust you that you’ll do the right thing.” She then turned her head as if she heard a noise, then nodded slightly, “I have to go. The creature is a pink-rabbit. It’s very elusive.” 

She just started to fade when Amilia reached out to grab her hand. Assassin looked shocked at the gesture.

“Listen, I--I’m going to get you away from him. No one should have to go through that.” Amilia said with conviction. She had no plans to do so before this moment, but as she said the words, she knew they were true.

The Assassin smiled at her, “I’ll be open for you to try. I must go now, thank you.” And with that she disappeared.

“That was the Assassin you defeated, I take it?” Lancelot asked.

“Um, yes. Though defeat is a strong word.”

“Strong enough, it seems. Be careful of what type of promises you make, though.”

Amilia whipped around to him, “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m going to do it!”

“How?”

“I--” That actually stumped her, “I’ll figure something out!”

He stared at her for several moments before walking down the hall.

“Hey! You don’t think I can do it, can you?” She marched after him, he was taking too long of strides for her to keep up with him comfortably. “Hey, listen to me! I--”

“Shh.” Lancelot stuck his arm back before they crossed in front of a corridor. Peeking around the hallway corner, he donned his weapon.

_What is it?_ she asked.

_A servant with, oh how convenient, a small pink rabbit creature._

_Oh shit._

She crawled over Lancelot to also peak around the corner, much to his annoyance. They saw a green-haired Rider with an orange scarf squatting in front of the creature and gently poking at it, looking almost bored.

_How do we get it without engaging with the Servant?_

_We could distract him, so he disengages_

_But that’ll hurt the poor guy :(_

Lancelot turned back to look at her and whispered, almost angrily:

“How did you do that with your mind?”

_;)_ She stuck her tongue out and winked.

_Disgusting,_ he thought before turning back.

_Okay, new plan_ Amilia stuck her finger in the air. _I’m faster on my feet, so I’m gonna charge after it real quick and scoop up the boyo, then you charge in and distract the Rider._

_That’ll go wrong almost immediately. Let’s do it._

_Okay 3, 2, 1_

Amila rounded the corner at lightning speed, the Rider not noticing her until the last second. She had just reached the rabbit when Rider quickly grabbed it by the scruff and yanked it close to him. Now in panic mode, she first punched the Rider in the face, then activated Caliburn and started swiping at him. The Rider bobbed and weaved to avoid her. Lancelot came out of the framework soon after, backing Amilia and reaching around her to land a blow to the Rider’s stomach. He dropped to the ground, releasing his grip on the rabbit, and it ended up bolting down the hallway. Lancelot was the only one to see where he went, so he bolted down after it, leaving Amilia with the Rider.

“What just happened!?” The Rider shouted, still on the floor, holding his stomach.

“Oh um, sorry, bro, no hard feelings?” She shrugged, still holding Caliburn before realizing she should probably start running, so she did. However, she had _no idea_ where Lancelot went.

Lancelot found himself in a ballroom of sorts, which seemed strangely reminiscent of the festivities that they would hold at Camelot sometimes, close and tight-knit dances where each movement was a performance instead of any reflection of fun they might be having. Looking for their target, Lancelot scoured the room, flitting his eyes this way and that, not really landing on anything in particular. He had lost sight of Amilia, but that was of little concern, he could still feel her if he tried, and he knew that she was still in the area. He kept looking. He saw the food they had laid out, but of course knew better than to take some, but it really seemed that was all anyone in here was doing. He looked under some obvious nooks and crannies, and doubted an already scared rabbit was going to stay in a crowded room for long. He could relate to that. Cutting his losses, he turned to exit the room.

Until his eyes flitted over to a form that had become familiar to him over the course of this Grail War. Diarmuid. With a man Lancelot had not seen before, draping his arm over Diarmuid’s shoulder and both of them laughing like it was the most natural thing in the world.

_Oh_

_Oh, no._

A certain ping of something struck him in the chest, the likes of which started a wave of dread that washed down his shoulders. It wasn’t so much the feeling itself that garnered a reaction as was the much larger, much scarier emotion it was attached to. It was like accidentally pricking oneself with a needle. All it really did in the grand scheme of things is make one realize that _Hey, there’s a needle here._ The prick in this case was jealousy. The needle was _love_. 

The realization made whatever was still in his stomach to start churning to the surface, and he vaguely realized he was actually going to throw up. He was overcome by this irrational urge to walk over to them and separate them, to remove the arm from Diarmuid’s shoulder and replace it with his own. But as his body leaned into the movement it was found to be held in place, his feet would not go and he could not move. So instead, prompted by his traitorous body, he held his trembling hand to his face, turned and briskly exited the room.

It was really remarkable there was such an easily accessible bathroom in a place like this. He supposed it made sense, half of the attendees were Masters, who would be in need of such services but for some reason, it was still strange to find a facility so casually. Of course, these were all thoughts to preoccupy Lancelot of the fact that he was now upheaving his stomach into the toilet (which was gold, which somehow made it worse). The whole room was reeking of the sickenly pompous decorum that had infected the rest of the place, and it served to make Lancelot feel even more pathetic that he was using it to throw up.

Which led back to why he was throwing up. Another round hit his body as the retching echoed in a way that surely mocked him. God, how did he not notice until now? How did such a feeling manage to creep up on him _again?_ An ambush laying in the dark, waiting to drag him down into depths he could never hope to escape.

He was in love with Diarmuid. 

His black hair that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, trapping it within his golden eyes. When he would turn to Lancelot and smile, he had dimples that would just barely show themselves at the corner of his mouth. His eyes would wrinkle just slightly, shifting the mole that sat on the left side of his face upwards. The subsequent uplift he felt mixed horrendously with the utter despair the revelation gave him, and sent another round into the basin. 

He was probably getting it into his hair at this point, but he was beyond caring. Or so he thought, because his stomach dropped further when he heard the door to the bathroom open up, the slightest of clicks accompanying the sound. He tried to hold it in until they left, but another wave of nausea hit him and he was unable to stop it.

“You know one would not expect a Battle Royal to make them sick to the stomach. Some would say they shouldn’t be here if that was the case,” came a voice from outside the stall.

His words brought a wave of contempt over Lancelot, which unfortunately added to the pile of churning stomach emotions. He was only dry heaving now, having already summoned up whatever was in his stomach into the bowl of the toilet.

“That was a question I wish for you to answer,” The voice stated

He was tempted to just tell them to fuck off but he really didn’t have the energy, “That’s...not why,” he managed to get out.

“Oh? Then why?”

He wasn’t able to answer this time, a headache had started to pound in the back of his head, and the lights in the room started to become too bright. He shut his eyes. There was a slight pause, and the sound of clicking started up again. His eyes snapped open again when he heard the stall he was in unlocked, and the feeling of hands in his hair, gently brushing it back from his face and holding it there. It felt nice, which made him feel more sickly as the contrast of the warm hands brought to life how miserable everything else was. He weakly heaved again.

“I thought it was a Servant’s signature here, but it still came as a surprise. Though your class makes it slightly more understandable.” The man talked in a hush tone, as if he knew talking too loud might exacerbate the issue.

Lancelot turned to glare at the man who found this so amusing apparently, to be greeted with the face of Ozymandias, the man who put them in this situation in the first place. He was shocked, what was a King doing in a place like this? Holding a sickly man’s hair? Especially when he made it such a point to tute around so highly.

“Oh come now don’t give me that look, it just makes sense as a Berserker you’d be prone to this sort of thing. Though I suppose you glaring at me like that means your feeling better?”

“I--” Lancelot was cut off as Ozymandias leaned down to help him up, allowing Lancelot to lean on him for support. Admittedly now that nothing was in his stomach he did feel better, but the feeling was traded for a cold clammy sweat and his core hurting.

He was brought over to the basin where Ozymandias filled a cup with water and gave it to him. Once it was clear Lancelot could stand on his own again, he hopped onto the counter.

Lancelot looked in the mirror, and somehow he looked worse than he felt. He looked like a man on the brink of death. After finishing the water he turned the sink back on and splashed his face with water, trying to wash some of the feelings out.

“You haven’t answered my inquiry.” He asked, kicking his feet slightly like they were gossiping in the bathroom at a sleazy night club.

“Why do you care?” he almost snapped, really he just wanted his mental breakdown in peace, why was he getting involved?

“For the time being you are under my care. And I care about the plight of all my subjects.”

“I have but one King, and they are not you,” Lancelot mumbled.

“One can have many that they answer to.”

Lancelot heaved a deep sigh, bracing his hands on the counter, looking at the swirling marble of the sink. “It’s… nothing. Not worth worrying about.”

Rider tilted his head, “Then why would it cause you to be sickly? If it was nothing?”

He can’t believe he was going to be forced to bare his soul to a man he just met, but really nothing about his experiences in the last couple of weeks have been ordinary.

“I’m in love,” he stated plainly, heart clenching and eyes burning at the admittance of it, “I’m in love and I don’t want to be.”

“Well why not?” Rider asked, sounding genuinely offended that Lancelot would be anything but overjoyed at this. “Love is one of our greatest strengths, our greatest achievements! To deny love is to deny being human!”

Lancelot bit his lip, “In the past…” Damn, how does he say this without giving his identity away? “Love hasn’t… been the most positive thing for me. It seemed like every time I was in love, destruction came around me. And I was too weak to stop it.”

“Too weak to stop the destruction, or too weak to stop yourself being in love?” 

Lancelot’s silence told him everything.

Ozymandias breathed in before speaking, “Love is not a weakness, it is a strength. In each union a new strength can be found as they grow together.”

“But with...how it went before. I don’t want to love again if a pain like that would come with it. It’s not worth it.” He clenched his fists.

Ozymandias was silent for a few moments, examining his nails, deep in concentration. Finally, he looked up and at Lancelot, that self-assured smirk still on his face.

“Tell me about this woman then. Why are you in love with her?”

Oh god, fuck, fucking damnit, shit, _fuck_. He wanted to lay down on the tile of the bathroom until he sunk underneath it, becoming one with the Earth. He wanted to evaporate in a cloud of smoke, absorbing his essence into the atmosphere. He wished a servant would come around the corner and just fucking stab him. Anything so that he wouldn’t have to continue this conversation. 

“It’s actually...not...a woman...this time,” he managed to force out, cheeks absolutely burning as he deliberately didn’t look at the other man.

“Ah, I see,” the Rider replied, sounding a little too pleased for Lancelot’s liking, “I think I’m starting to understand then. Is this the first time that you’ve fallen in love with a man?”

“Yes. Well, no. Well it’s--” The question brought up the image of Galehaut to his brain, which was both a surprise and not. It was something he knew in his heart but his brain was quick to deny. But the Riders words brought forth ugly, jagged emotions that he had tried to bury when he left. “It’s complicated.” Were the words he offered to the Rider.

He could still remember the day like it was yesterday. Arturia and him rushed down to the steps of the castle after getting word that two of the knights had said they were leaving for good. The sky was still dark with the rain they had received not two hours earlier, but despite that Tristan’s red hair seemed to be glowing. Galehaut, in contrast, almost blended into the scenery, with his dark brunette hair and cool clothing, but it was him that Lancelot’s gaze first fell on. His presence here shocked him, neither him or Tristan had given any indication they had a desire to leave. But here they were, about to disappear for good from Camelot’s doors.

They were...quiet, unusually so. Tristan had looked like there were a thousand words that he wanted to say to them, to the King, but muttered the simple phrase “The King does not understand the hearts of men,” when questioned before he turned on his heel to walk away. Galehaut hadn’t said anything, at first, but held Lancelot’s gaze with a sad expression, hair slightly damp and frizzy with the wet, a scarf tucked underneath his neck. Galehaut stayed for several moments, just staring at him. Suddenly, he rushed forward back up the steps and grabbed Lancelot’s hand with his own, with the eyes of a beggar, pleading with him. Even with Lancelot being higher on the steps, Galehaut was still about eye level with him.

“Come with me, Lancelot.”

Lancelot felt something being inexplicably pulled in Galehaut’s direction. For a moment a life where he did go flashed into his head, that they could be happy, that they would have each other. His heart swelled at the thought, of sharing his life with the person he’d grown to care about so much. Then he heard Arturia shift behind him, and he saw his King turning to leave. Nothing had shown on Arturia’s face at that time, but there was a tension that Lancelot could practically feel. She wouldn’t look at them.

The King doesn’t understand others, Sir Tristan? The King is a _person_ , like anyone else. She needed her knights by her side in these crucial times, not to leave at the first instance of strife. There was so much on her shoulders and no one that could share in her burden. It was with this realization that his resolve hardened. Lancelot removed his hands from Galehaut’s grip, shaking his head, and turned to follow Arturia inside, not looking back at his closest companion again.

“Lancelot!” His name was shouted. Then again; Galehaut’s voice cracking at the last syllable. “ _Please!”_

His step faltered only briefly, his heart shuddered only once. And with a resounding thud, the heavy oak doors slammed shut behind them, the sound giving an air of finality as brisk as a blade tearing through Lancelot’s heart.

Tears started to prick at Lancelot’s eyes at the memory, that crucial moment where everything afterward seemed to go downhill. He had sought Guinivere a few months after that, trying desperately to find a way to help their King and all the strife she seemed to carry on her shoulders. Learned the truth about her, the thing that everyone had thought but no one had dared to say. And now he was here with another King encouraging him to fall again.

He looked back over to find the Rider studying him thoughtfully. Then he hopped off the counter again, walking over and placing a hand on Lancelot’s shoulder.

“If it causes you that much grief, then let it be,” he said, “There’s no need to force something from a relationship if you're not ready for it yet. I’m sure your Lancer friend will understand, if he cares for you as well.”

“I never said who it was,” Lancelot said softly.

Ozymandias laughed before turning to exit the bathroom, “A King sees all, my friend. You didn’t need to say anything. Best of luck to you.” With a wave he was gone.

After a few moments to feel like a person again, he took another swig of water and exited as well. Conveniently, right as he emerged into the hallway again Amilia came charging around the corner, but came to a full stop as soon as she saw him.

“OH MY GOD, WHERE WERE YOU!?” she shouted, running forward and bear-hugging him. Well, she attempted to. With their difference in sizes she just managed to barrel into his torso.

“Oh you know, around,” he chuckled weakly, patting her head.

“I was so worried!” she looked up at his face, and must’ve seen something she didn’t like because she grew concerned, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Did you find the creature yet?”

“I um, yes I did actually.” She looked down at something on her wrist and pointed down the hallway again.

It looked like she wanted to talk to him more about where he had been, but he decidedly did _not_ want to talk about that, so he marched forward, and after a moment she followed.

The creature was extremely elusive and would drop in and out of Amilia’s radar, causing them to turn this way and that for ten minutes. Two servants popped out of the framework along the way which Lancelot made short work of.

“Nice!” Amilia praised.

“Thanks,” he grunted, wiping off his blade.

His emotional state was still raw, like his psyche had taken a meat tenderizer to it, pulverizing it until it was a pulp. If he kept moving he wouldn’t have to think about anything. Certainly anything that would require self-assessment and reflection.

“Hey Lancelot!” Amilia called from behind him.

He grunted.

“Lancelot. Hey, what was that earlier, where did you go?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Um.” Amilia cast a spell on her feet so she could skip ahead of him.

He stepped around her.

“Hey!”

“What!” He whipped around to her.

“What happened? I walked into that one banquet room and Diarmuid was white as a sheet and just like pointed after you? Where did you go?”

“I just went to the bathroom.” He muttered as he rounded the corner. 

Except, the radar flipped again and they had to walk back down the same hallway. 

“Oh but ‘Servants don’t need x y and z’ I thought?”

He was really hating how she questioned everything.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I mean. Okay,” she paused for a moment, “Can we talk about it later?”

Another servant conveniently popped. An Archer, who expertly kept his distance from Lancelot which made it more difficult to defeat him. It was actually Amilia who dashed into his space and dealt him quick blows in rapid succession. It didn’t kill him (which she was actually thankful for), a dark red ‘X’ appeared on his chest and his eyes widened as he dissolved in a golden vapor.

After he was gone she turned around, obviously expecting him to continue the conversation, but he just walked away from her.

Annoyed at this point, Amilia ran up and grabbed his hand and yoinked him back. _Okay, look Diarmuid was being weird earlier and now you? Can you at least not be sulking if you aren’t going to talk to me?_

Lancelot huffed, _Look this is really not the thing I can talk about_ right now _okay I will talk about it later._

_And you won’t be huffy?_

_I’m not huffy_

_You’re a little huffy_

A crash sounded off in the distance and that caused them both to jump. They looked at each other and started running towards the sound again.

_Okay, once we are directly out of danger I shall speak to you, okay?_

_Okay!_

God the two of them really just need to _speak words_ to her. Like she gets that it might be hard to talk about but at this point they’re taking it out on everyone else and that’s just not cool. Amilia pursed her lips.

The crashing got louder as they approached, flashes of magic sparking from the corridor. They came onto the scene and had to take a few moments to comprehend what they were seeing. 

There was a heavy sort of magic lazily working its way up and down the hallway, twisting like a coil of rope. There were several servants that were ‘connected’ to these ropes, all in various states of unconsciousness. The tendrils flowed slowly down the hall and Amilia followed it’s path to a Caster servant in the middle of the hallway.

It was a man with a wide, almost cheery grin only circumvented by the fact he was holding an opened book that the magic was pouring into. He had mostly slicked back brown hair but a portion of it had fallen away into his face, which he wiped out almost frantically as sweat dripped down.

“Hey bro--” Amilia called out, “Are you good?”

His eyes flicked over to her and widened like he had just noticed her. “Ah hello Miss! Are you here for the opening night of my new play?”

“I um,” she looked around, backing away slightly, getting an awful sense of foreboding at the situation happening in front of her right now. 

Lancelot brought his sword up and before Amilia could say ‘Hey maybe don’t charge towards that guy?’ he was already charging towards that guy. He got right up to him before the tendrils made contact with his form. Lancelot still managed to get a downward swipe, which the Caster sidestepped and Lancelot fell flat on his face, sword skidding out from underneath him several feet. He didn't get up after he fell.

“What did you do!?” Amilia screeched.

“I--” But he didn’t get to finish that sentence because Amilia rushed in and activated Caliburn and started attacking him.

“What. Did. You. Do!” she bellowed, pointing each word with a stab. It drove him back each time, he tried to start his sentence each time but she continued to cut him off.

With the last stab he launched himself up into the rafters, holding onto the wooden beam with one hand and the book with the other, hanging like a pirate off of the bow of a ship.

“Miss! Miss! It’s okay! See, he’s going through his character arc right now! When he reemerges he’ll have a better engagement with his storyline!”

She charged up a ball of magic and lobbed it at him, “What the fuck are you talking about!? That’s an actual person!”

“See Miss--” he dropped down when the energy ball was chucked at him, “These characters are ones that I believe shall fit in quite well with my new series!”

She spun around and fired herself at him, he tried to sidestep but she followed his movement and wrapped her hands around his throat. She kicked his feet out from under him and held him prone on the ground.

“Bring him the _fuck_ back,” she growled.

“I--can’t,” he gargled, “My no-my magic has a time limit. They have to go through the--” he grabbed at her wrist and she doubled down, squeezing harder, “They have to go through the scenario in order to come back.”

“What scenario?” she growled.

“Just--something from their past life or a scenario that engages that in some way. For character development.”

“ _For character development!?”_ She squeezed once more before releasing him and going to Lancelot, flipping him over onto his back.

His eyes were glassed over in a vacant stare that reminded her of when she first contracted with Diarmuid. She saw his mouth trying to move a couple of times and then there were tears brimming the edges of his eyes.

_Lancelot!_ She tried to call out to him. He blinked once but otherwise did nothing.

God she hoped whatever he was going through wasn’t too terrible…

_There was a buzz about Camelot, a knight was arriving soon and wished to speak with him. He had never heard of a Galahad before, but reports account he was very keen on meeting with him. Understandably, Lancelot was a bit nervous, he had no idea what this individual wanted. An old enemy of his perhaps? No, accounts said it was a relatively young boy, barely on the cusp of reaching adulthood. What can such a lad need from him?_

_“Perhaps he is a great admirer of yours,” Galehaut laughed, clapping him on the back._

_“Somehow I doubt that,” Lancelot replied._

_They were walking down the hallway leading up to the steps of the castle. A new knight joining Camelot was almost always an occasion, and there was already a sizable crowd leading gathered outside. The knight had also expressed interest in the Round Table so that was another reason to be interested in his arrival._

_Lancelot racked his brain as to what connection he possibly could have with a knight so young. He had gone with the other knights on several outreaches in towns across the British Isles but none of the interactions with the locals particularly stood out to him. A squire who had left perhaps? No, there honestly weren't many of them who had left, and he knew where most of them had gone when they departed. It would be very strange if one of them had shown up cryptically like this._

_“Hey,” Galehaut reached around Lancelot’s shoulders and pulled him in close to him. The movement distracted him for a moment, and Lancelot turned to him to give him a small smile. Whenever Galehaut touched him it always seemed to ground him, and he was grateful for his presence now. “Whomever he is I’m sure he’ll make a great addition to Camelot, maybe even the Round Table eventually. I’m sure it’s just someone who looks up to you, no need to get nervous.”_

_“Ha, you’re probably right,” Lancelot replied, but couldn’t quite shake the feeling of foreboding._

_Galehaut’s hand shifted from Lancelot’s shoulder to the back of his neck, running his hand through his hair, looking curiously at him. The sensation, tickled, is the only word he could put onto it, and he fought off the sudden urge to close his eyes. He straightened his back, totally unrelated to the fact that the movement pushed him further back into Galehaut’s hand._

_“Your hair’s getting longer,” Galehaut commented._

_“Is it?” Lancelot was tempted to reach back to feel his hair, but that meant he would be touching Galehaut’s hand too. His fists were clenched before he realized it. He hadn’t been cutting his hair as of late. He originally had planned on cutting it when they got back from the next outing. He told Galehaut this._

_“Hmm,” he removed his hand, and Lancelot felt a tad bit colder than before, “I think you should grow it out. It looks nice on you.”_

_Those words were buzzing in his head as they opened the doors into the bright sunlight. Most everyone was already there, two spots next to the King were opened and they hurried into them. There was an excited buzz to the crowd, this would be the first new knight to arrive in a few months, things like this were always a big event._

_After a moment or two, there was the sound of a trumpet filling the air. Gareth and Gahreis, who were standing by the gate, snapped to attention and opened unlatched them, pulling the two sides open. There was no entourage that escorted the knight in, he sat alone on a white horse. A short purple cloak sat across his shoulders, covering black armor. Similar cloth extended down from his waist. His face was covered by a helmet, a simple black one that had a visor that came to a point._

_When he strode in the crowd went silent. It was a sort of hush that came over one in the face of something big, something important. No one knew who the knight was but his stance as he sat upon his horse spoke of something powerful._

_He did no posturing with his horse when he rode in, no loops around the crowd to whip them into a frenzy, merely strode before the King and dismounted. Then took a kneel while holding the reins._

_“Rise valiant knight, and tell me where you hail from.” Arturia’s voice boomed across the courtyard. Guinevere was at her side, hands clasped in front of her with a simple flowing blue dress._

_The knight rose as he was told, but hesitated before taking off his helmet. When he did so, Lancelot’s blood ran cold._

_“Elaine?” he whispered._

_Galehaut looked over at him, but didn’t say anything._

_Elaine opened her mouth to speak, but it was a deeper voice that came out. Lancelot suppressed the shivers that ran up and down his spine and forced himself to actually look at the individual._

_“My name is Galahad from Corbenic.” he started. “I have come to join the knights here in Camelot.” He hesitated before saying the next part, “Alongside my father.”_

_Ah, yes. Now he’s seeing it. It’s not Elaine, though the boy is an almost spitting image of her. His white hair swept across one eye and down to a modest length on his neck, curls tousling on their way down. Though he knew all this cognitively he could not shake the way he saw her in the curve of his brow, in his jaw, in his eyes. He physically couldn’t look at him for long._

_The king was speaking, “Who is your father?” she asked._

_The boy turned directly to Lancelot, trying to meet his eyes. When Elaine’s eyes met his own he found himself turning away from them without thinking. The boy pursed his lips, but spoke in as clear a tone as ever._

_“My father is Lancelot of the Lake. The Black Knight.”_

_He practically felt every single eye in the courtyard swivel at him at once, and he felt suddenly miniscule, a lamb in the wake of the jaws of a wolf. He looked over to Galehaut to find him pointedly staring ahead, expression almost bored looking. He reached down to find Lancelot’s hand and squeezed once._

_It was one of the few times he had seen the King falter. “You… must want to speak of this matter alone. Met me in my chambers.” Arturia turned swiftly around, quickly followed by Guinivere._

_In a daze, and luckily so that he missed the gossiping murmurs of the crowd, he followed them, the boy trailing behind. It was only when they were approaching the King’s chambers that he realized Galehaut had kept stride with him. He turned and gave Lancelot a reassuring grin and the edges of his vision cleared a little bit._

_Once they were in the King’s chambers, she set herself up at her desk, Guinevere standing just behind her. The boy, clearly having never been in a situation like this, was trying hard to remain respectful and knightly, his hands straight at his sides and looking straight forward._

_Arturia strummed the rest of her chair for a few moments, seemingly deep in thought. Finally she looked up, addressing Lancelot, “Is there any truth to this boy's claim, Lancelot? Can he be, and is he your son?”_

_His vision was blurring again, so he just answered the King’s question as best he could, “It is possible, Your Majesty, and the boy does look like…” He swallowed thickly, “Does look like the woman that the possibility existed with.”_

_“I see.”_

_Galahad turned to his Father briskly, “I am not a boy,” then dipped his head as if remembering who he was addressing, “Your Majesty, I am a respected knight of Corbenic, knighted by my grandfather and taught by my Uncle. Though my father resides in your Round Table, it is not for him that I seek company in Camelot.” He turned to Lancelot, “It would be just like you to speak of my mother that way. Did you care so little for her when you left?”_

_“I--”_

_What was he talking about?_

_“Oi--” Galehaut, “Look lad, I may not know you but there is_ no way _you're going to speak to a member of the Round Table like that. Father or not.”_

_“Lancelot,” The King spoke, “How is it you became acquainted with Galahad’s mother?”_

_“I’ll tell you how,” Galahad spoke, bitterness and thorns creeping into his speech, “He and my mother eloped, after he promised to care for her and had sworn he would marry her. Only for him to abandon her and the child he had helped create.”_

_No, that’s not what happened. Did he believe that?_

_“Mother said he was around when I was younger, but never interested in acting like a father, turning heel and running the first chance he got.”_

_He hadn’t even known this boy existed._

_“Lancelot, is this true?” Arturia addressed him._

_The room was closing in on him, any moment it would collide with his shoulder, send him to the ground, squeeze him into nothing. He could barely breathe, no less actually answer the King’s question. His silence seemed like admittance, but he couldn’t get the words to leave his mouth._

_Arturia sighed, Guinevere in response put a hand on her shoulder, which Arturia took, placing a chaste kiss onto her hand. Looking at Lancelot she jerked her head in a motion to send him out of the room, which took him several moments to respond to. Galehaut had to put a hand on the small of his back and shoulders to guide him out of the room._

_Galehaut took them back to his bedroom, in which when the door closed Lancelot finally felt safe to have his breakdown. Galehaut tried to speak to him, putting his hands on Lancelot’s shoulders, which the latter clung to. He wanted to tip forward and bury himself in Galehaut’s chest but didn’t want him to feel awkward. His breath came in short bursts, and it felt like his head was slowly being squashed by a horses hoof._

_Galehaut sighed, rubbing his thumb on Lancelot’s shoulder “Look, whatever you did or whatever happened with that boy. We’ll get through it, it’ll be alright.”_

_Lancelot dug his fingers into Galehaut’s arm at that, trying to fight down the panic. He barely managed a nod as he stared at a scratch in the wood floor below him. Looking at the boy for too long brought up all the memories he would have rather forgotten._

_The haziness of that night, Elaine descending on him like a dark cloud, him waking up groggy, sore and covered in more sweat and fluids than he should have been. Honeysuckle and lemon, to this day he still couldn’t stand the smell of them, it stunk the sheets and clung to his skin. How young and foolish he was, he wished he never drank that much._

_“Shhh, it’s alright.” Galehaut rubbed soothing circles over his shoulders._

“Hmm. No, this isn’t enough. Needs more...umph, more _drama._ ”

_Lancelot jerked away from Galehaut, who froze in the same position as if Lancelot were still in his arms. There was a man in his bedroom, a short brunette man with brown eyes and extravagant clothing._

_“Who are you?” Lancelot demanded, reaching for his sword to find it was gone. He turned to Galehaut to see if he was seeing this but he wasn’t moving. Like someone had stuck him in a painting and left him there._

_“_ Like you're a _Berserker,_ where's the mental corruption? The moral deterioration? The utter hopelessness?” 

_The man scribbled in the book he was carrying, still muttering to himself. Suddenly the room tilted to the left and he was back in Arturia’s chambers._

_“Lancelot,” Galahad sighed, “Look, either way I’m not here for you nor do I care what you do. I just wanted to have an equal footing with all the knights here. That meant no secrets. I know you don’t care for me as a son. You’re so obvious, you won’t even look at me.”_

_“Galahad I--” Suddenly Lancelot remembered how to speak again, “It wasn’t like that--” But he was right of course, even now he can’t look him right in the eye, each time it slipped off of his form like rain off a roof._

_“--You can’t just ever talk about anything, can you?” Galahad yelled. Except it wasn’t Galahad this time, it was Amilia, wearing his armor, “Everything, you keep it all bottled up and then you hurt everyone around you. It’s what you do best Lancelot. Give into your selfish wishes and wallow in your own self-pity and don’t give a shit when other people are damaged by it. You damage others with your wants, Lancelot.”_

_“No--I never meant. Amilia, I’m_ sorry.” _God his mistakes were catching up to even her now. He was trying, honestly, god he was trying. But at least with her he was hearing what he needed to do. But oh how it left him raw._

_“Of course I would accept your apology Lancelot.” Arturia said. It was exactly what she said that night, where he had tried to come back, to explain himself. “If you love Guinevere you have your reasons.”_

_There was a tension in her shoulders that didn’t reach her face. She didn’t look at him. She was lying and they both knew it. The King, as virtuous as ever, but for once Lancelot was trying to reach her as a person. He_ hurt _her, he knew this! She knew it too! She was a soldier with a blade through her heart insisting nothing was wrong, and he was the one with his hand on the hilt._

__ _“Oh and what an utter deviant you are, wanting me as well,” Galehaut spoke, Lancelot whipped around at his voice. Galehaut stepped forward and leaned down, wrapping him in an embrace, “And I could tell, Lancelot. Do you really think it could’ve ended well with me? You chose her over me Lancelot.”_

_“Galehaut--”_

_“And here you are falling again,” Galehaut said, except it wasn’t Galehaut this time. It was Diarmuid. “Utterly despicable, to think you're worthy of someone like me.”_

_“I don’t think that!” Lancelot said with conviction, holding Diarmuid at arms length, “I’m--I won’t tell you! I won’t fail like I did last time!”_

_“You think you can just hand wave what you did?” Amilia spoke again, but this time she was where Arturia was, wearing the blue dress she was wearing. “You make anyone who has to talk to you unhappy Lancelot. You cause misery wherever you go.”_

_Diarmuid was in Guinivere’s spot now too, “You might be taking again too, like you did last time. What if Amilia’s in love with me, hm? Did you ever think of that?”_

_The different Galehaut, Diarmuid, Guinevere, and Arturia’s starting switching places and roles and clothing interchangeably. Lancelot was having a hard time keeping track of who was saying what. The room started spinning, literally this time and the four of them started to circle Lancelot, each getting louder with each pass._

_“If she is, she can have you!” Lancelot yelled at the Diarmuid-Guinevere, “I won’t say anything like I did last time!” “What makes you think you’ll succeed this time?” Diarmuid-Galahaut mocked, “You’ve always been a failure, Lancelot. It’s what you do best.”_

_“You failed me,” Amilia-Galahad said._

_Arturia merely looked at him, all the kindness and understanding that a King should have. But that’s not what he_ wanted _from her._

_“I’m going to be ruined by you.” Galehaut-Diarmuid said._

_The man with the book was back, interspersing himself between the revolving people._

“Yes, yes, this is much better. Buuuuut, I think we can up the ante, what do you think?”

_The room clicked off. It was pitch black and Lancelot couldn’t see anything. Suddenly, a light in the middle, so bright a contrast against the rest it could almost be a painting. In the center, a woman with snow-white hair in gentle curls stood with her back to him. He couldn’t move, she turned and smiled sweetly at him, holding out a bottle of wine. He took it. Fuck, why did he take it?_

_Elaine leaned down and whispered into his ear, “You’ve always been broken. And that won’t ever change.”_

_Gareth and Gaheris, emerged from the dark behind her, bloody and torn clothing. He choked back a sob when he saw them._

_“I’m sorry! I didn’t know it was the two of you, my body just moved!” he yelled at them. Elaine was gone again, and he was alone. “My mind, it wasn’t present.” he mumbled._

_“Those were my_ siblings! _” Gawain yelled, grabbing him full force by his shoulders. He didn’t bother fighting the movement. “My little brother, my little sister. You took them from me! It wasn’t enough to betray our King, you had to take them from me too?” Gawain was rage, he was fire. He was the sun. There was nothing he could possibly say that could make up for what he did to them._

_He turned back and the two of them dissolved into dust. In their wake, Arturia emerged, with all the regalness of the King that she was. He...he wasn’t worthy of her now, to be in her light. Truly he never was._

_She nodded at him and turned, walking back into the darkness._

_Something in him snapped at that, and a black tar started to fill the room. It filled up his mouth, his eyes, his mind. Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill, destroying him as it recreated him. There were so many things he had done in the wake of all this, truly there was no retribution for him except to die. The mud washed him away until he was nothing, nothing left. He closed his eyes and was overcome._

Lancelot’s eyes seemed to come back into focus, and Amilia’s heart soared, thinking he emerged unscathed. Then, slowly his armor materialized over him, hiding away from her view once more. He clambered to his feet, and just as Amilia got that awful feeling that told her something was very, very wrong, he gave off that guttural growl that told her that the Berserker went, well berserk.

“Ahaha!” The Caster servant proclaimed, rising from his place on the floor, “Yes, finally! The right concoction, a truly berserk Berserker will be an excellent addition to the cast!”

The tendrils have broken away from the other servants and they slowly stirred from their slumber. They looked around sluggishly before getting a better handle on things, each seeing that they were surrounded by enemy servants and materializing their weapons.

Lancelot, at the sound of the Caster’s voice, practically pounced on him like a cat, holding his skull in both of his hands and just squeezed down until the Caster’s head caved in on itself. 

“Lancelot!” she shouted before she could help herself.

Lancelot dropped the body to the ground, and the Caster almost immediately started to vaporize in red smoke. The other servants forze in their tracks for several moments.

_Oh this is bad. Oh this is very, very bad._

Lancelot slowly turned around until he faced the other servants, them not knowing exactly what was going to happen. Lancelot screeched, like actually screeched, a sound that reminded her of a dying cat. The other servants braced themselves. Lancelot swung around and grabbed one of the end tables and charged down the hallway, and everyone scattered. One Lancer was too slow and got pulverized into the opposite wall, collapsing onto the ground before also fading. Lancelot rounded the corner.

He was down and out before Amilia could process what was going on. Letting out a series of curses she ran after him. He was not careful of the architecture in his wake, as she ran there were gouges and holes in the wall, servants fading on the cusp of death practically littered the ground. Her heart ached for them, this wasn’t how she wanted their battle to end.

She followed the sound of distance screams and glass shattering. She could hardly breathe; everything seemed to be too big as she ran down the hallway, it taking forever for her to get where she _thought_ Lancelot was.

Eventually she came out into the open, the space going down a level from where she was at. At the center there was a set of stairs that led down to it. A swinging rope hung from the ceiling, and something told her that a chandelier must’ve been hanging from it. Approaching the rail cautiously she peaked over it.

Lancelot was hunched over in a crouch, like a guard dog protecting his property. He had switched out the end table he was wielding for a long scepter, the blade had the same black flames licking from it as did the rest of his armor. One servant team stood across from him.

A girl with an Archer servant, both clad in various amounts of red. The girl seemed to be a little taller than her. Her servant had a short red jacket that barely covered his shoulders, and a wrap that extended down from his waist, also red. He held two swords, one white with black, one black with white. They reminded her of the yin yang symbol.

_If you're an Archer, why do you have swords?_ She wondered, crouching down and creeping along the top floor, hoping they didn’t notice her. Hopefully, Lancelot would just stay _still_ for a few moments longer so she could reach him. Didn’t want him panicking or the other team to see her and panic.

“I can see you, the guard rails have spaces in between them.” The girl spoke.

Cringing, Amilia popped up, “Ah yes so they do.”

The girl didn’t turn to look at her as she spoke, “Is this your servant?”

Amilia sighed, leaning against the rail, “Yes, he indeed is. I’m going to try to help him so if you guys could hold on and not kill him for a few minutes that would be great.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” The girl flipped her head up, crossing her arms.

Amilia frowned, “Why not?”

“This is a fight where only one of us shall be the winner, and that one shall have the advantage of saving a powerful servant for last, maybe even being a tentative ally until then. As such, no advantage can be given ever.”

The girl finally turned to look up at her, and Amilia saw she had brilliant blue eyes, which caught her off guard. Quickly, she raised the hand that Amilia noticed had a command crest on it a little too late, muttered a phrase in German and a shot of magic came flying towards her.

Counteracting with her own spell, she trapped the energy and sent it back just as quickly, which stunned the girl as she hopped out of the way, looking bewildered at the spot the final contact came from. 

Amilia’s face slowly broke into a wide grin, staring at her hand. That had been a _powerful_ punch. Why, if that had made contact it might’ve vaporized her instantly. She clenched her hand into a fist, a giddy sort of sensation starting to bubble up in her stomach. She wouldn’t have to hold back, would she? She could go all out.

“You’re stronger than you look!” she yelled excitedly down, putting one foot on the rail.

The girl braced herself, “I’m the heir of the Tohsaka family, of course I’m strong.”

Oh, that just made the giddy feeling worse. One of the families who made this war? Sign her up! “Well, _Tohsaka,_ I hope you have more where that came from!” She charged up her own attack, putting as much power behind it as she possibly could, “Cause you’re going to need it!” 

With that she teleported right beside the girl, kicking out with her leg suddenly, sending her into a pillar. She turned to her servant, “Berserker, do what you can!” 

She would (hopefully) deal with the insane part later, right now they just needed to get through this fight. Archer brought his swords up as Berserker let out a roar and charged at him. She couldn’t quite pay attention long, but she heard the clashing of metal behind her.

Tohsaka pointed her arm at her again, muttering a series of phrases that lead to a cascade of magic shots to fire down at her. She put a hand in the air and brought it down with force, bringing a shield up that stopped the attack, spinning down and around she once again sent it back towards the owner.

Except Tohsaka was gone. 

Amilia jerked her head up and there she was again. Flicking her fingers, Amilia got the jump on her, sending a blast that launched her into the ceiling. Tohsaka fell to the ground and Amilia ran up to her, sending magic down her leg and attempting to bring it down onto her back, but she rolled out of the way just in time.

Berserker then rolled into her line of view, tucking in before going up into a crouch, launching his confiscated weapon before leaping back, Archer dodged it and followed the movement, taking a swipe at him before he jumped again.

Tohsaka, while she was distracted, came up and struck her in the face, sending her back several feet. Amilia got a flash of pain in her jaw, and realized she had actually been hit. Her mage fights never go like this! This was amazing! She actually laughed as she stepped in again, sending a flurry of punches towards Tohsaka, who was both put off by her behavior and trying to avoid her strikes. She was put onto the defensive, sticking her hands up and backing up at every blow.

The sound of a blade contacting flesh, and Lancelot’s groan distracted her. She whipped around and saw him on one knee, the Archer standing over him, ready to deliver the final blow.

“No!” Amilia shouted, effectively abandoning her fight. She used her magic to dash in between the Archer and her servant, quickly funneling all the magic she could into her leg, kicking him back. As Tohsaka did earlier, he flew back and into a pillar, and had to take a few moments to get up.

“What, the hell?” he said once he was standing again, holding his face.

Rin just stared at him in disbelief, “How did she--?”

“You are not killing my servant!” Amilia shouted as Lancelot slowly struggled to his feet, but quickly collapsed again. She turned to him, putting up a shield between her and the other Grail team. 

He must’ve gotten another injury between Caster and now, because he was bleeding from a couple of places. She turned to them, enraged. There was no need for any bloodshed here tonight, why were they doing this? She gritted her teeth.

“You are not killing my servant,” she said again, “I don’t care what it takes, I’ll stop you both myself.”

“I somehow doubt you could do that,” Archer spoke for the first time during the encounter. 

In retaliation Amilia lit her fist on fire.

“Though I don’t doubt that you’ll try.” He went into an attack stance, “If that’s how you want it to be, then so be it.” 

Both he and his Master charged towards her, and she charged up her attack, not really knowing if she was going to survive the next thirty seconds, when a flash of blue zipped in past her.

A clank of metal, a gush of wind, and both of them were being forced back once more. Amilia blinked.

“Oh!” she exclaimed.

It was the Lancer! He stood with his spear pointed towards the other team, blue hair whipping wildly about him. The same Lancer who… tried to kill Lancelot. She shook her head. That wasn’t his fault, that was his Master’s. But still, why was he here?

“What are you doing, Lancer,” The Archer lowered his weapons, practically staring daggers into the other servant, “This cannot be of any benefit to you.”

Lancer relaxed his position for a bit, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, “Well yeah, but it ain’t about benefit.” He jerked his thumb back to her, “See I almost killed her servant in what must be the stupidest way possible, so I gotta make sure we’re even before we properly fight.”

“Your logic is as backwards as always,” Archer scoffed.

“Well, um, I appreciate it! Thank you!” she told Lancer.

He looked back at her for a second, she thought he was going to say more, but he just turned around again and went back into his fighting stance. Archer did the same. There wasn’t much she could do in terms of giving him magic, but she gave him the most basic of transfers. To which he stiffened his back, and whipped around to her. She raised her hands, and he seemed to realize what she did.

He didn’t have the time to properly thank her, because Archer had already sent a blow that Lancer barely had any time to block, then the battle was on.

Turning back to her servant, she approached him so she could maybe try some healing. Although that would prove to be difficult, seeing as with each step she took he scuttled backwards.

“It’s okay.” She soothed, holding her hands out, “Lancelot, it’s me. You’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” She whispered his name because she didn’t want the other’s to hear, but it felt weird to address him as “Berserker” right now. Lancelot was now backed against the wall, making wounded animal noises, but allowing her to approach.

She crouched down and scooted up to him, feeling out with her magic to where he was injured. He made a low groan when she started her healing but other than that seemed to be taking it rather well. She wanted to take off his helmet, but was also scared to. She didn’t know what she would find underneath it. Reaching up to the latch underneath it, she undid the helmet and slowly slipped it off. She stifled a cry. 

His eyes were sunken in and his teeth came to sharp points. His hair was matted and stuck to the side of his head. He looked more like a beast than a person. She remembered just a few days ago they were shopping for Diarmuid and he was giving her advice about cabbages. He’s still in there.

He had a small cut on the side of his face, and though there were probably more pressing wounds to take care of, she brought her hands up to heal it. He flinched away from her.

“Shh, you’re okay, you’re okay,” she said as she started.

He calmed down somewhat.

_What the hell did he do to you?_ She wondered, half-directing it to him but not expecting an answer.

_E-laine_

Her eyes widened, _Who’s Elaine?_

He blinked, and she swore there were tears at the corners of his eyes. He gave off a sound of pain. At that moment one of Archer’s swords came flying towards her and she deflected it. She grit her teeth, glaring at the Archer. Surprisingly, Archer’s Master fell back after Lancer joined the fight, watching over him and periodically giving him a transfer. She must know how much of a threat this guy is.

_At least Lancer will have an easier time now, one less sword,_ she thought, looking back at the fight. Lancer hit him with the butt end of his spear, lurching Archer’s head back. Archer leaped up, and Lancer attempted to swipe his face, but Archer managed to trap it between his knee and elbow, materializing another sword and throwing it at Lancer’s face.

_Well alright then._

“I can’t believe you’re my opponent the second time in a row,” Archer shouted, dodging a blow from Lancer.

“You’re telling me.” A knee to the face, “Second time in a row I got a poser with a stick up his ass!”

“Fuck you!” Archer shouted, punching him in the face.

“Fuck _you_ , you fucking--”

At that moment, a guttural roar overtook the place, and the walls started to shake, sending anything that wasn’t nailed down to the ground. Amilia threw herself over Lancelot to protect them, and the other servants stopped their fight to regain their balance. Suddenly, the sound of an explosion, and the whole side of the building shattered into thousands of splinters, exposing the, wherever they actually were, to the cold night air. The wind whipped around them and she tasted the spray of sea salt onto the hair.

“Hey! Amilia!” she heard over the roar of the wind.

She looked up to find Diarmuid in the newly formed hole in the building, a glowing mass behind him which she realized was Bugs. Diarmuid yelled something else incoherently, then turned to leave.

“What!?” she called after him.

He turned back around, “Get outside somethings going on we need your help!”

Then dashed off again.

Archer and Lancer were looking back and forth between the ripped outside and each other, unsure whether they were supposed to keep fighting each other or take on the new threat.

“Well, what the fuck are ya’ll waiting for!?” she yelled at them, they snapped to her surprised. “Let’s get the fuck out there! Lancer, take Berserker for me?” She then booted herself up to the hole to look out, glancing back to find all three of them were actually following her, Lancelot thrown over Lancer’s shoulders.

Diarmuid and Bugs were on the edge of the water. She tried to walk towards them but found her feet couldn’t carry her over there.

_Stupid King curse_ she scowled.

“What’s going on!” she shouted to them.

“That!” Diarmuid pointed behind him.

“Whaa--?” 

Then her eyes traveled upwards to the mass that was forming and sliding across the water, the one so large she mistook for empty space. Her blood ran cold.

“Oh fuck,” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like how this one turned out, and I hope you guys like it too!
> 
> I've been writing this and Diarmuid's chapter at the same time, but got more inspiration for this one so I was able to get it done first. The other one has a good chunk written so that should be coming soon (I say tentatively because every time I've said that it's been delayed lol).
> 
> I'm having a beta look over previous chapters and such, but he's not all the way through it yet so I decided to post this and maybe change it later if necessary. So keep an eye out for previous chapters getting an update!
> 
> As always thank you guys for reading I appreciate it! Leave a comment and tell me what you think!
> 
> (Also I changed my @ on tumblr, it's the same as my AO3 username, if you want to check me out there!)


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